


Siempre

by TiPoLover_22



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: F/F, F/M, LGBTQ Themes, Lesbian, M/M, Mentioned violence, Mentions of Rape, hints of violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2019-04-19 09:11:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14234007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TiPoLover_22/pseuds/TiPoLover_22
Summary: Victoria had never told a soul about who she really was and she had thought everything would be ok when she died with her secret too. She had never once thought that her past could catch up with her here. After seeing an old flame, getting into some shenanigans with her abuelito, seeing a final death, and having a talk with her dear nephew, Victoria is finally ready to test if family really does come first.Subplot- Miguel thought that life would get easier when the music ban was lifted, that he would have all the time in the world to play, listen, and catch up on all things music! He could not have been more wrong. Secondary school is turning out to be a challenge with both learning and the stupid boy that sits next to him in class who makes him feel all queazy inside. And home life is not much better. His abuelita is hiding something from the family, his Mamá Coco isn't getting any younger, a family feud just proves to have MORE secrets. And all he wants to do is finish the song he keeps hearing in his head. Will his problems ever end?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story came to me when I had the thought that Victoria wrote poems and around that time I also love the headcannon that she was a lesbian and it got me thinking about who she would write the poems for. I like to also think that she's more like Héctor than she likes to admit so of course poems are just her songs without music. And then, finally, the saddest lesbian love story came to my brain (which isn't really that sad now that they know about the land of the dead) and so I just gave the story to Victoria. I really hope you guys love this story just as much I do.

**Latina Lesbian Icon Dead At 68!!**

* * *

  **Alondra Nava, En Paz Por Fin**

* * *

**Author Of The Award Winning Novel, “** **_Siempre_ ** **”, Dead**

* * *

  **Alondra Nava, Lesbian Icon, Dead In The Same Place She Swore Never to Return**

* * *

She kept her eyes closed, wondering where she was. She felt...lighter, younger...Free. She didn’t remember taking a nap. In fact, she didn’t remember getting back to the inn at all. She slowly opened her eyes to a beautiful, blue cielo. She saw the silhouette of a creature flying above her. Her hand reached out to touch it, unbidden. Her eyes widened, surprised, and she instantly sat up, screaming as she looked over her body. Or her, well, skeleton. Her ulna, her metacarpals, her humerus! Her entire body, all bone. She screamed louder.

“Calmase! Calmase!” She looked up from where she laid and saw a skeleton coming her way. She screamed louder as she crawled backwards. “Por favor, señorita! Calmase! There’s nothing to be afraid of.” He smiled at her.

She stopped screaming, but still kept her distance as she stood up. She looked around, finally noticing that she had been laying on a bed of cempasúchil petals. The turned her head, or her skull, to the right and her jaw almost dropped. There were buildings upon buildings upon buildings filled with colors and bright lights. She heard the distant sound of chatter and tiny white spots that she guessed were more skeletons. She lower her gaze fell, the more surprised she became. The entire place was surrounded by water. A beautiful clear ocean that looked like it never ended. She turned to the skeleton, who was still smiling at her.

“Welcome to the land of your ancestors!” He announced, cheerfully.

She took a second to look at her bones again. “Am I- Am I dead?”

The skeleton chuckled. “You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t.”

She remembered now. After dropping off the book and CD, she had been walking back to the inn. Dropping off the items had left her both physically and emotionally exhausted. As she walked, her blinks had lasted longer and longer until, finally, she just let her eyes close. For good. She blinked up at the skeleton. “What happens now?”

“What happens now, is that you follow me and we’ll find your family!”

She shook her head as she followed him. “I don’t have any family.” At least, not anyone she’d like to call her family.

“Of course you do! What’s your name?”

“Alondra Nava.”

He gave her a weird look. “Alondra...Nava?” She nodded, wondering what on earth, or whatever this place was, he was thinking. He slowly nodded his skull, taking her word for it.

She followed him into a building and he sat her down on a desk, shoving what she assumed was paperwork at another skeleton. “You take her, I’m not dealing with this!” She watched him go, surprised at his sudden change in attitude.

The poor skeleton now holding the paperwork turned to her. “I’m very sorry about that. I don’t know what came over him.” He set the paperwork down and offered her a seat at his desk. “Nombre, por favor.”

“Alondra Nava,” she repeated.

He gave her a funny look as well, but it seemed less threatening than the other skeleton’s. “Occupation in the living world?”

Alondra smiled proudly. “I was an author.”

The skeleton suddenly had a huge smile as he grabbed his phone. “Estefania! Get over to my desk! Now!..Just hurry up!” He slammed the phone down and turned to her. “I have to say, I think my favorite book had to be Rosa’s-”

“I’m here,” another skeleton said, walking up to them. This one had a bored expression and her hair in a ponytail. She guessed it was Estefania. “Que quieres, Carlos?”

“I’d like you to meet my new client!” Carlos turned to her. “Do you mind saying your name again?”

Alondra looked between the two, confused. “Alondra Nava?”

The Estefania skeleton gasped. “Dios mio! Are you- are you The Alondra Nava! The author of _Siempre_?!”

Alondra nodded with a smile. It was always nice to meet a fan.

“EEEEEEEHH!!!!” The skeleton squealed and Alondra wanted to cover her ears so badly. Except, now she didn’t have any. The woman was now on her knees, bowing to her as if she were Dios himself. “It is such an honor to meet you. You were my inspiration to finally come out to my family! A-a-and buying _Siempre_ is how I met my wife!” She laughed. “We were both reaching for the same copy.”

Alondra felt a tug in her heart, did she even have one? “May I ask how you died?”

“Oh, my wife and I died in a plane crash!” Alondra blinked at the woman as she grabbed a pen and paper, holding them out to her. “You think I could get your autograph?!” She laughed, sheepishly. “Yo nunca tuve uno in the living world.”

Alondra slowly nodded as she took the paper and pen. “Estefania, verdad?” The skeleton nodded eagerly as she wrote down her signature. She handed it back to her and smiled at the skeleton took it with quivering hands.

“I can’t wait to tell my wife,” she squealed as she backed away, probably getting back to work. “Gracias! Gracias!”

“You’re gonna meet a lot of people como ella,” Carlos said with a smirk. “And unfortunately, you’re gonna meet a lot of people like the one who brought you here.”

Alondra smiled. “I’ve dealt with millions in the living word.” She internally laughed. She was already calling it the living word. “What worse can they do to me in death?”

Carlos nodded with a sad smile. He looked back to the computer. “Names of family members, por favor.”

She started shaking her head, about to say she had none, but then it suddenly struck. “Everyone who dies comes here, right?”

“Not really. This is sort of the Santa Cecelia area,” he laughed. “This place is pretty much endless. There’s always another city being built.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s great!” She leaned in close. “Victoria! Victoria Rivera!”

“Que?”

“Mi familia! Victoria Rivera!”

Carlos blinked at her. “From the Rivera family? Nieta de El Gran Hector Rivera, esteemed songwriter lost in time?”

She looked at him confused. “No,” she said slowly. Didn’t her family hate music? Then again, she remembered the sound of a guitarra playing when dropping off the CD and book to Elena. And she may have caught a glimpse of some sort of Rivera museum. “I… don’t know?” She had a better way to describe her. “She was a zapatera.”

Carlos smiled brightly. “This is amazing! I can’t believe I didn’t piece it together myself! The only family in mexico who hated music!”

Alondra looked at him, more confused than ever. She knew that was a line from the book, and now the movie, but what on earth, or in the land of the dead, was he talking about? “Señor Carlos, do you mind telling me what you’re talking about?”

“I think,” he started, his smile turning more mischievous. “You might want to hear it from your dear Victoria herself.”

* * *

 

Apparently, finding the Riveras wasn’t hard. Everyone knew exactly where to go to around here if they wanted a good pair of zapatos. Or wanted to at least catch a glimpse of the new celebrity, Hector Rivera. Alondra wondered if it was the same man that caused Victoria’s family to hate music. She looked at the directions that Carlos had given her before looking at the street signs. She was glad her death hadn’t gotten around to this world just yet, she didn't’ want a bunch of fans crowding around her while trying to find her one true love. If she took a left now and kept on walking, she would make it to the Rivera Hacienda and Zapatería. Soon enough, she did.

It looked just like the one in the living world.

She walked in, hearing the familiar bell. It brought back memories of when she would come to visit Victoria and tell her about ideas for her books. Sometimes, even the rest of the family would work silently as they listened to her. That had lasted a short time, though. She wasn’t allowed near Victoria after…

She let the thought go unfinished. She was here now! And so was Victoria! They could start over and spend their afterlife together, forever! Walking through the door, she expected to see Victoria in her normal spot, a coke bottle not too far from her reach as she worked on a pair of shoes and an empty chair reserved just for her. The illusion shattered when she saw that the shop was empty. Well, almost empty. At a measuring desk, there stood a woman in purple that had haunted her dreams for years.

“The shop is closed today,” she said with a bright smile. Alondra had never seen that expression on Señora Rivera. Her eyes no longer held any anger, her smile was genuine. It was weird to see her like this and not the scary mujer that had banned her from seeing her nieta almost 40 years ago. She watched as Señora Rivera untied the apron around her and hung it up. “Feel free to come back tomorrow if you like.”

“Will Victoria be here,” she had asked, unbidden.

An expression of surprise crossed Señora Rivera’s face before it settled on one Alondra knew all too well; suspicion. “She might be.” She crossed her arms as she finally got a good look at her. “Do I know you?”

Alondra didn’t look away as she said, “No, I don’t think you do.” She could see in the Señora’s eyes that she knew that she was lying. She had been scared of this woman once, but, throughout her years, she had met more frightening people. “Thank you for your time, Señora.” She gave her a smile before bursting out of there. She let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. She may not be scared of her anymore, but that woman was still intimidating.

_A-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-ay ay ay!!_

She snapped her head towards the sound of a grito. So close to the Rivera hacienda! Did they have a death wish?! Wait, no. What was it that that Carlos had said? An esteemed songwriter lost in time? Did that mean...they found him? The missing musico from almost a century ago?! It would make sense.

Now she remembered. It wasn’t just a guitarra when she was dropping off the book and movie. There were faint sounds of other instruments, even voices. She could hear the shuffling of feet, dancing. And that museum wasn’t for shoes. _It was for music_.

She almost tripped over herself when she started walking quickly towards it. She knew that, había un vez, the family did everything they could to keep music away from their lives. But Victoria, ay, her dear Victoria! She was different! She would pretend to be looking at things in the market whenever a mariachi had passed by. Not to distract herself, but to _listen_. When they would pretend to go washing clothes, they would dance! It had been hard to convince her that music wasn’t as bad as her family thought, and when she did, there was no going back. She would have to remind her to stop humming a tune when they got close to her house. She would have to remind her to not dance when they were at the plaza, in case any of her family might be around. To Alondra, it was fun to see the No-Nonsense Victoria, who stood with her head held high and her arms tightly crossed, turn into a bubbling music lover who would squeal and jump at the lyrics of songs. Even if she had to hide it from her family. And she had done so, quite well, until-

There she was. Her hair was up in a bun, just like when she was alive. Her glasses lay upon her nasal bone, going to the back of her head where she no longer had ears. Her brown eyes laid upon a skeleton with raggedy clothing and an corbóda guitarra. She had a small smile instead of forced scowl. And her skirt swished along with her ilium as she tried very hard not to move along with the music. And, of course, her arms were crossed. She looked...beautiful.

“Oye, Viquita,” the raggedy skeleton came up to her and set his guitarra down as the rest of the musicos kept playing. He held out a hand. “Let’s dance!”

Alondra wanted to throw something at the skeleton. How dare he try to ask her dear Victoria to dance! Did he not know?! She watched, a smile creeping back on her face, as Victoria shook her head.

“No, abuelito.” So it _was_ the missing musico from almost a century ago. What was his name again? Héctor? She watched as Victoria took a step back. “I don’t dance.”

Alondra smiled. “I remember you being a great dancer.”

The skeleton, Héctor, turned to her, surprised by her presence. Victoria, though, stood absolutely still.

“Hola,” the musico greeted, confused. He then gave her hand and a big, goofy smile. “I’m Héctor!”  

She took it. “Alondra, mucho gusto.”

“You’re a friend of my little Viquita?!”

Alondra smiled at bit when she saw Victoria glare a little at the nickname. “We go way back! Don’t we, Victoria?” That’s when she finally met eyes with her beautiful Victoria. The irises started at yellow before morphing to brown. Yellow was Victoria’s favorite color. It usually meant happiness, which was very important to Victoria even if she never truly showed the emotion. She expected Victoria to smile at her, to rush and hug her, or maybe even kiss her for the first time in years!

But Victoria didn’t do any of that. She pointedly turned away from her and said, “I don’t know this woman,” before rushing away.

She took a step back in surprise as Victoria walked away. Did she just- Did she just say she didn’t know her? Did she just say she didn’t know her?! After all those private moments, those secret dances, those forbidden kisses! She says she doesn’t know her! She was about to run after her when the old skeleton beat her to it.

“Viquita!”

All her anger drained away in a second. Victoria did know her. She remembered all those moments they shared, all the dances they did, all the kisses they had given each other. She had remembered them all! It’s just that after all these forty years that she had been gone, she  never told a soul. Alondra turned around, walking the way she had came.

* * *

 

Victoria felt a pit growing in the stomach she didn’t have. There was no possible way that could be… But…

Her markings were beautiful lines, and tear shapes, and hearts, every single one lined with rainbow colors. And she had a few white streaks in her hair, meaning she had lived to a good age. Were the Estados Unidos kind to her? Did she ever even leave Santa Cecilia? Did her husband ever find her? And what of her papá? Did he ever find out about it all? How was she here? How did she find her? How did she die? Did she ever get to live her dream as an author? Had she unknowingly read some of her books? Did those in the Estados Unidos know about her? Did she ever tell anyone? Did she ever find someone else?

That question stopped her in her tracks. _Did_ she ever find anyone else? Did they dance with her? Did they hold her? Did they kiss her? _Did they love her_?

She looked around and went to go take a seat on a sturdy crate in the alley she was in. She shouldn’t be asking herself these questions. She shouldn’t be thinking about her loving another woman. She shouldn’t be thinking about that at all. She just ruined any chance of Alondra talking to her again. Which was just as well, too. If her family ever found out she was a…

She buried her face in her hands with a sigh. She wasn’t sure what they’d do, but the possibility of anger kept her from ever telling them. They all had wondered why she never talked to any man outside her family, why she never got married and had children like a Elena, why she constantly scowled at any eligible man that came near her. She feared the outcome of telling them _then_ , she feared the outcome of telling them _now_. She had hid it for years, she would hide it now. Alondra being here made no difference.

She stood up with new found confidence. Alondra being here made no difference. As long as no one knew anything about it, she would be fine. She dusted herself off before taking a step out of the alley.

“Viquita!”

She sighed. Of course her abuelito knew! That was just like him! Getting in everyone’s business! Of course, he only did it to get to know his newfound family, but it was annoying all the same. She slowly turned to him, wondering what would come.

“What was that back there, mija,”  he asked as he finally made it to her. “Is there bad blood between you two, o que?”

She had to come up with something and something quick. “Um...She, um...sh-she-”

“She,” Héctor goaded, making a gesture to keep her going.

She dropped her hands to her sides, giving up. “Abuelito, I don’t want to talk about it.”

Héctor wanted nothing more than push it, keep asking her what was going on, but he still felt that he was in a difficult place in the family. He backed off. “Of course, of course.” He gave her an assuring smile. “But if you ever need to talk about anything, know that I’m here, ok?”

Victoria returned the smile. Had it been her abuelita or her papá or, god forbid, _Tía Rosita_ , they definitely would’ve pushed. “Ok, abuelito. Gracias.”

“De nada, mija.” Héctor thought for a moment. “Hey, wanna go listen to music in the plaza?! I’m sure it’s better than mine!”

“No music is better than yours, abuelito,” she complimented.

“Ay, Viquita, you’re just saying that!” He held out an arm for her and she took it.

After a few hours of watching him dancing and singing with the other musicos, Victoria had told her abuelito that she was heading home.

“Do you have to go,” he asked as if they were both kids and she was being called by her mamá.

“Si, abuelito. I’m not feeling well,” she lied. “I’m gonna go lie down and rest.”

“Ok,” he said, disappointed but accepting. “Get home safe, ok, mija?”

“Ok, abuelito.” She turned away from him not really caring to see if he was watching her go or not. She just had to get home and lie on her bed and maybe read something while she was at it. Just something to take her out of this reality.

The reality that Alondra was here.

She banged her palm on her head at the thought. Why did she have to show up now? Why couldn’t she have just died with the secret?! Everything was perfectly fine with her family now. No anger, no heartache, no secrets! But that wasn’t true, now was it? The only person who ever knew about her was her sister and even she didn’t understand it that well. She wanted to forget it. To forget that beautiful, curly hair, those plush, pink lips of hers, her dainty curves that drove her crazy, and those beautiful brown eyes that turned gold in the right lighting…

And they had definitely been in the right lighting when she had seen her.

Even her skeleton was nice to look at with those beautiful, colorful markings and her hair with the white streaks she, herself, never had the chance to grow. How long ago did she die? How long had she lived? Did she ever make it big the Estados Unidos? How many books has she written? Even in her death, will she write more? Would Victoria even know any answers to these questions? Maybe she should’ve stayed with abuelito and the music. They had been a good distraction so far.

“Mija, what’s wrong?!” She stopped banging her head when she heard her papá rushing towards her. “Why are you crying?!” Her hand immediately went to where her cheeks would’ve been and there she felt tears. She didn’t know she had been crying.

“I jus- I just- I just have this really bad heada-” Her voice cracked. Her papá held her hand and tapped it. She always prided herself in being taller than the other women in the family, even the living ones, but now, when all she wanted was for her papá to hug to her, she thought it a curse. “I’m going to go lay down for while,” she said, suppressing her sobs. “It’ll be better when I wake up.”

“You do that, mija. I’ll tell your Tía Rosita to cook you some Caldo for when you wake up.”

“That’d be nice,” she agreed before he escorted her to her room. She lied down on her bed and closed her eyes. Her dreams were filled with secret kisses and swirling dresses.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I love this chapter because Miguel is in it. I added a little subplot summary to the whole story because what happens to Miguel is linked to Victoria's talk with her dear Nephew. Love you all! Have fun reading!

When she woke up, she expected to be at the clutches of her abuelita after she had caught her dancing with…

She sat up from her bed, rubbing where her eyelids would’ve been, remembering that she was not in Santa Cecilia, she was not alive, and how that had been over 40 years ago. She looked around her room before they landed on the window. It was late already and she really felt like going back to sleep and repeating the dream she had had, reliving memories she had thought were suppressed for good, feelings she had thought had faded over time, a passion she had thought completely disappeared when she had died. But it was all still in there. 

She groaned as she stood up from her bed and stretched. Hopefully Tía Rosita had made that caldo. She could really use a distraction right now. She knew plenty of women who used to do it, she didn’t have to worry about gaining weight here. She was a skeleton. 

Entering the kitchen, she realized that her family was still in it, listening to her abuelito recall and old tale. 

“-and they taught me that in the Estados Unidos, you could take the last name of your partner. And so I said, ‘If I married Imelda, I’d be Héctor Rivera!’ And then Imelda said-”

“I didn’t say anything,” Imelda interrupted. As Victoria poured some caldo into her bowl, she could tell that if her abuelita had skin, she would be blushing. 

“Oh, really,” Héctor laughed. “I remember you going a little something like-” He stood up, exaggerating the posture of woman. “Oh, Héctor is that your secret way of proposing to me?” 

“That never happened,” her abuelita denied, trying to keep her composure as everyone at the table snickered. 

“Oh,” Héctor laughed. “So you don’t remember me saying, ‘You got me, Imelda!’” He put a hand to his heart, exaggerating his words. “I am secretly in love with you! Run away with me and be my wife!” He held out his hand to her, goading her to do the next words. She only looked away from it. He didn’t quit though and held out his hand closer to her. “Run away with me and be my wife!” She still didn’t look at him as she brought a spoon of aroz to her mouth. He brought his hand _closer_ , his smile getting bigger. “Run away from me and be my wife!”

Her abuelita sighed before standing up and exaggerating her posture, one hand to her heart as the other took her abuelito’s. “Why, Héctor! I thought you’d never ask!” 

Everyone burst out laughing, even her. Hearing her laughter, her entire family turned to her, surprised. “Oh, Viquita! You’re awake!” Her Tía Rosita got up and went to crush her in a hug. “Come, Mija, come sit!” She sat her down next to her. “How was your day, mija? Did something happen? Your papá said you had such a terrible headache when you got here! Is everything alright?”

“I’m fine,” she assured as she dug into her caldo. And she really was. Being surrounded by her family really made her forget about her inner turmoils, if only for a moment.

“A woman came in looking for you earlier,” her abuelita informed. 

Victoria froze for just a second before continuing eating. “I wasn’t expecting anyone.” 

“She had beautifully colored markings,” her abuelita tried. “Hearts and stuff.” 

Victoria shrugged. “I don’t know any woman with such markings.” She pointedly ignored the stare from her abuelito as her abuelita nodded her head. 

“Just a warning, Mija, if she comes back again. You may not know her, but she sounded like she knew you.” 

“I’ll be sure to keep an eye out,” she assured. “Abuelito,” she shifted the attention to Héctor. “How did you and abuelita meet?” 

That took his attention away from her for a moment and back to embarrassing his dear wife. “ Oh! Now that’s a fun story!” 

Victoria ate her Caldo, glad the attention was off her and on her embarrassed abuelita as Héctor explained how she had almost killed him thinking he was a young suitor. What wonderful distractions.

* * *

 

It had taken a few hours, but Carlos had found her an open home waiting to be taken by a new arrival. It was smaller than any hotel room she had stayed in for book signings, the window was a whole lot smaller and didn’t have any glass, the garden she could see outside her back door was all dead and nothing like her garden in the living world, the bed that was given to her was made for only one person who wouldn’t move around much, the walls were an unattractive shade of yellow, and the closet was incredibly tiny and had barely enough room for a few dresses. 

She let out a happy sigh as she dropped herself on to the new bed. “I love it!” 

“Don’t worry about settling here,” Carlos told her, tossing her the keys to the place. “Once people know that The Alondra Nava is here, your fans will be rioting to get you a new, bigger place.”

Alondra shook her head. “No, I like this. It’s little. And cozy!” 

It reminded her of the room she had to stay in when she made it over the border and got help from a nice lady named Milagros. It took her a few months to understand enough english to be able to get a good job from an anglo woman who was too busy, or rather lazy, to clean her huge house herself. Milagros helped her get fake papers and was glad when la migra didn’t stare at them for too long. It took her years to learn english and to finally start writing her stories and by then, the cozy, little room that Milagros had given her was long gone and so was Milagros. 

She went over to the back door and opened it, revealing the garden. It would need watering, of course, and maybe a few new flowers. She would definitely plant a few more orquídeas. She took a step out of the room and into the balcony garden and went to the edge, where she got the most beautiful view of the area, something she never got from Milagros’ room and something she had gotten used to with her fame. This place was perfect. And she told Carlos so when she saw that he didn’t leave. “I’m gonna get a bigger bed, though.”

He laughed. He gave her a sly smile. “Speaking of getting a bigger bed, how’d it go with Victoria?” 

Alondra let out a sigh. “It did not go well,” she admitted. “She, uh, acted like she didn’t know me.” Which had to be the biggest sting of her life other than the only reason America letting her stay was because she was rich. But, she had made it across the border, she had dodged immigration, she had started out with nothing and climbed her way to the top! Getting Victoria back was not going to be a challenge. Not if Victoria still loved her, which she was sure she did. “But, I’m not giving up,” she told Carlos. “I didn’t quit in life, I am not quitting in death!” She turned to him with a bright smile. “But, before I do anything, do you know any good place to get some clothes?” She had died in a very attractive outfit and wanted to be dressed in something that matched how youthful she felt now. 

She was thankful she had died with her purse on her. Though it was limited money, she couldn’t help but stare at all the food and stores around her. It was all so bright and colorful! She ran over to a stand selling lucas and other dulces. She picked up a small cauldron of ollita rica and went for her purse. “How much are they?” 

The vendor looked at her like she was crazy. “Are you new here?” 

Alondra nodded with a bright smile. “I just died today!” Maybe she shouldn’t sound so happy about that. 

The woman nodded before giving her a big smile. “Nothing here costs money. Our resources are endless, we don’t need to make a profit. But we do love trades here!” She gave her a scrutinizing stare. “What do you have to offer?” 

Alondra had no idea what she had to offer. She only had her purse and her unflattering dress on her. And the things in her purse weren’t that special. A pack of gum, some important papers that weren’t important anymore, a few hair decorations, a dolphin keychain, a necklace she never wore anymore but kept for sentimental reasons, a small notebook filled with notes that would’ve been her future books, unimportant 25 cent rings she had gotten out of boredom, and a small picture of the only person who had loved her all her life. She took out some of the rings and the women perked up. “They’re not real,” she explained, which didn’t lessen the woman’s interest. “But they’re pretty!” 

She nodded. “I’ll take the red one! Mi esposa’s going to love it!” 

Alondra felt annoyed that a potential customer backed away with a look of disgust when the woman said that. Nonetheless, she smiled. “I’m sure she will! Thank you for the candy.” 

“Thank you for the ring!” The woman waved at her before turning to someone else offering a trade. 

She walked off until she found a store that suited her style. While most of the stores were trying to trade off the tight, young stuff she never felt comfortable in, this one had dresses she remembered wearing in her youth. She had traded off her dolphin keychain and two more rings for five dresses she had liked. This place was turning out to be more fun than she expected. 

She heard loud noises and turned to her right to see a bar. A shot of tequila sounded nice. She hadn’t been able to drink ever since that kidney failure in 2012. Now that she thought about it, that probably could’ve been how she died. She shrugged it off and went inside. What would men want from her purse for a shot of tequila? Maybe they’d like some gum! 

“-still going off about your stupid missing wife!” 

She took a glance at the conversation she had heard before turning away. They weren’t that far from her and eavesdropping wasn’t wrong. At least, not to someone who wanted to make more stories. And now that she realized that this place was endless, she did. 

“She left you over forty years ago,” the man said. 

“What can I get for you,” the bartender asked. 

“Just a shot,” she answered. 

“Wasn’t she fooling around with a woman,” another man had asked. 

“Whatta ya got to trade,” the bartender asked. 

She held up some peices of gum. 

“Yeah,” one man agreed. “You used to complain about that too!”

The bartender took them and slid her a shot.  She downed it and wondered how it was possible to feel the burning in her throat if she didn’t have one. 

“I would’ve beaten it out of her soon enough.” 

She froze. That voice...even now she still had nightmares. 

“Ay, Raynaldo,” his friends laughed. 

She quickly stood up, drawing quick breathes. She had to get out of here. She tried to move forward but she could only take a few steps before she completely felt winded. How could he… There was no possible way… People like that could end up here? She tried to take another step, but her body just wasn’t letting her. Then she realized she didn’t have her purse. Momentarily distracted by the loss of her purse, she had the strength to turn around and look for it. And then the strength to walk back to the bar with a scowl on her face as she saw someone about to snatch it. “Excuse you,” she yelled, snatching it out of his hand. “This is mine!” 

“This is my girl’s purse,” he lied. “I was retrieving it for her!” If she hadn’t been so angry, maybe she would’ve recognized his voice.

“This is my purse,” she challenged, seeing if he would lie again. She decided to make things harder for him by bringing out her wallet and her ID. She held it up to him and pointed at her name. “This says ‘Alondra Nava’,” she seethed. “This is my purse,” she yelled as she glared him in the eye.  

“...Alondra?” 

And suddenly all her bravata was gone. She knew those eyes anywhere, green and surrounded by red veins due to always having a beer in his hand. As she looked at him, not much had changed. His beautiful eyes were still ugly due the damn beer he held in his hand  _ now _ . “Raynaldo,” she finally said his name. Her hand clenched around the purse strap before she brought the whole thing to his face, knocking his head off his shoulders. Literally. “Aléjate de mí,” she yelled with so much anger she started shaking. She didn’t wait to see if he would retrieve his head or not and ran right out the bar.

Why was he here?! How could someone like him be able to live in such a beautiful place?! Was Dios playing tricks on her?! Did he really allow people like that to be here?! Was she secretly in hell?! The questions kept coming as she kept on running. She didn’t stop until she was sure that she was far, far away from him. When she made it home, she slammed the door behind her, locked it, fell to her knees with her head against the door, and cried. 

She cried until the throat she didn’t have turned dry. She cried until there were no more tears to let out. She cried until she realized that there were those who could hear her. That’s when she got up, used her sleeve to wipe away the tears, and just stood there, staring at the door. She didn’t know what she was waiting for. Maybe for the door handle to turn, for the door to open, for someone to walk through it, who, she wasn’t sure, but she knew who she wanted it to be. Someone who would comfort her, who would tell her it was going to be ok, who would hold her until she finally felt better, who would tend her wounds and try to convince her not to go back. But she would have to. Away from her dear Victoria and back into the prison of a house with her godforsaken husband, Raynaldo. Always having to go back to him after such a wonderful time. 

Until she finally didn’t have to. 

She remembered that day. She was making herself a meal before she had to leave. He had come home that morning, drunk, and saw her suitcase. He had yelled and cursed and hit. But, finally, she decided that it was time she would stand up for herself. She had pushed and shoved and hit back until she finally decided that it was enough. She had grabbed the comal off the stove and planted it on his head hard enough for it to burn him and knock him out. She had dropped the comal, surprised, but not guilty, at what she had done. Being the decent person that she was, she had, of course, checked to see if he was alive before she grabbed her suitcase and left. 

That was over forty years ago. She shouldn’t be worrying about it now. There was nothing he could do to her here. He didn’t even know where to find her. 

She, however, knew where to find Victoria. And that’s all she needed in this lif- Death. She lied on her bed with the same clothes she had died in, not really thinking about pajamas when she went shopping. Her dreams were filled with comforting arms and reassuring words.

* * *

 

“No,” he groaned, pulling his blanket over his head when his mamá turned on the light. “I don’t wanna go to school,” Miguel complained. 

“Well, that’s too bad, mijo,” Luisa laughed while heading to his closet. “We’ve already bought the uniforms.” She adjusted Socorro on her hip before reaching for a hanging uniform. “And the books!” She laid it on his bed. “You have five minutes before I come back in with a zapato,” she warned, walking out. 

Miguel glared at nothing in particular as he sat up and looked around his room. There wasn’t much in his room besides his closet, a luchador poster, and, of course, his guitar. He was glad it was here, where it should be. In the room of a Rivera! Not alone in a murderer’s tomb. The process of proving it belonged to their family was hard, and the stolen songs much harder, but they had prevailed and the guitar was now his. He just wished he could show it all to Papá Héctor. 

“Four minutes,” his mamá yelled. 

He hated school! Now that the music ban was lifted, all he really wanted to do was play the guitar. Why did he have to go to stupid school?! He would be starting in a new school now that he was 13. And, thanks to his family, he had the morning classes. Which mean he had to be up, ready, fed, and prepared. In thirty minutes. “Ugh!”

“Three minutes,” he heard his mamá yell. 

He finally dragged himself out of bed and put his uniform on. When he made it to the kitchen, he saw his mamá breastfeeding Coco. He immediately felt annoyed, knowing his mamá had no intention of taking off her shoe. 

“Here, mijo,” his Abuelita said, setting a plate of chorizo con juevos in front of him and placed the tortillas in the middle of the table. He had become very suspicious of his Abuelita lately. The other day, una vieja with curly, brown and white hair had came by and gave his Abuelita a book and a CD. He had tried asking about it, but she had told him not to worry about it. Another reason he hated school now, he wouldn't have time to look for where she'd hid them.

“Where's Rosa,” he asked, grabbing a tortilla.

“She’s still getting ready,” his mamá explained. 

“She wakes up earlier than you, mijo,” his Abuelita snickered. 

“She thinks we don't know she puts on Gloria's makeup before school,” his Tía Carmen, Rosa’s mamá, walked into the kitchen, chuckling.

“She's not as sneaky as she thinks she is,” his mamá commented with a giggle.

They all turned as Rosa walked into the kitchen, still tying her hair up with a liga. “Whatta you guys talking about,” she asked, innocently. 

The women all burst out laughing. Even Miguel started to snicker when he saw that Rosa’s cheeks were tad bit redder than normal. Rosa stared at them all like they were crazy before using a finger to lift her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “You ready, Miguel?” 

Miguel groaned. “Do I have to walk with Rosa,” he asked his mamá. 

Rosa laughed. “Of course you do! You’d get lost, otherwise.” 

He rolled his eyes. Why were his primos always picking on him. At least Manny and Benny were too young to do anything. “She knows the way to your new school, Mijo,” his mamá reasoned. And she wasn’t wrong. Rosa was a whole year older than him, so she had gone there before him. “You walk with her. End of argument.” 

“End of argument?!” 

“Si,” his mamá answered before turning back to watch Coco. His little sister was so adorable. She looked just like Mamá Coco’s baby picture. 

“Can I go say bye to Mamá Coco first?” 

“Sure, Mijo,” his abuelita granted. “Try not to wake her up.” 

“I’ll wait for you at the front of la hacienda,” Rosa said before giving her mamá a kiss on the cheek. 

He ran to Mamá Coco’s room. The sun hadn’t fully come out just yet, so no light had reached her window yet. But he could see her lying there in a peaceful sleep. He went over a gave her a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you later Mamá Coco,” he whispered. “I’ll tell you all about my day at school.” So maybe there was an upside to this whole school thing. He sent one last genuine smile her way before walking out of her room and catching up with Rosa. 


	3. Chapter 3

Victoria loved to wake up early. Everything was quiet in a world that hadn’t quite started yet and it was a peaceful moment. If only she could enjoy it before the strumming of a guitar ruined it all. 

Her abuelito woke up this early, too, claiming that he loved creating music in the morning, when the world was still quiet. Though his tunes were always soothing, she found the quiet much more comforting. Nonetheless, she got up and dressed herself before heading to the kitchen to greet her abuelito. 

He sat on the table, literally on it, and just continued strumming his guitar, only acknowledging her with a nod of his head. She made herself a coffee. Trying to fall asleep last night was harder than she had thought. Her nap had been so comforting, but her actual sleep was nothing short of terrible. She wished Alondra hadn't died so soon. Or, at least, hadn't died here. Then all these old emotions wouldn't be creeping up in her now. She just wanted to live on the day like it was a normal one. It being a saturday, with the shop not opening today, she was hoping to just get some peace and quiet while finishing some orders early. “Are you making a new song,” she asked him, not recognizing the tune. 

He shook his head. “No, this is a really old song. It’s one I made in while in España,” he explained. Victoria a nodded, remembering when he had told them that he gone to España for a year to learn. Looking at her Abuelito, she wondered how on earth he could’ve ever afforded school in España. 

“Can I hear the lyrics to it?” 

“No,” he said slowly. “This is...This is not a song for kids.” 

Victoria deadpanned. “I’m not a kid.” 

“You are in my eyes,” he laughed, playing a more upbeat tune. 

“Is that a new song?” She would always ask him that when she didn’t recognize a song.

“Ay, Viquita,” he laughed, still playing the tune. “You have to know, I’ve made many songs. None I play are new. It’s just that Ernesto never got them.” And he started to sing. 

_ Cuando me levanto en la mañana _

_ Yo agarra _

_ Mi guitarra _

Victoria smiled as he played this song. He wasn’t wrong, she had never heard this song before back when she and Alondra were in their De La Cruz phase. She decided never to tell her abuelito that she ever liked De La Cruz. Instead, she listened to his song about a man who loved waking up in the morning knowing he would be able to play his precious guitarra. 

When he finished the song, she couldn’t help but ask, “When did you write it?” 

“I also wrote this one in España,” he answered. “Well, I never really wrote it down,” he explained. “I would just play. It was only for me! And now I’m glad I never wrote it down. That puto never got his hands on this!” Though he smiled, Victoria could feel a bit of uneasiness out of her abuelito. Ernesto disappeared after the Sunrise Spectacular and no one had seen him since. Which meant her abuelito never got any closure. He didn’t get to see him be arrested for his crime, he didn’t get to see that bastardo get what he deserved, and, most importantly, he never got to know why he did it. Though her abuelito still acted like his bubbly self, she knew that, in time, he would crack. And, just like herself, if he was ever feeling down, he’d want to be alone, not wanting to worry them. 

“I think I’m gonna spend my time in the shop today,” she said. 

His eyes brightened at the thought of being able to be alone. “Oh, yes! That sounds like a great idea! You should do that! Are you going now?” 

She laughed at his eagerness. “Si, si. I’m just gonna finish my coffee before heading over.” 

He seemed to accept the answer before he continued playing. Maybe he’d show her more songs when he was in a good mood. Maybe she’d ask him to play them when  _ she _ was in a good mood. That time was not now, though. Now was the time to be alone, doing something she loved. Just like her abuelito. She downed her coffee, waved her goodbye, and headed for the shop. 

The shop had always been kind to her, no matter what. When she was little and had tripped, the sewing machines were there. When she was a bit older and had seen her mamá fall and break her hip, the carving tools were at arm’s length. When her abuelita had died, the dyes were just a few steps away. And when her papá had died, the shop had been there. Every terrible moment in her life, the shop was always there to comfort her. 

But, now, as she sat there cutting some cuero, she didn’t feel comfortable at all. Not with the sewing machine there, not with the carving tools at an arm’s length, not with the dyes just a few steps away, not with the shop just being here. She didn’t feel comfortable at all. 

She grabbed the cuero she had cut yesterday and went to the carving tools. Mr. Morales wanted his usual design. Usually, carving the designs helped her lose herself and disappear to a new world, where her problems didn’t exist. But, now, she was finding herself more than she wanted to. Finding herself in memories she had tried to get rid of, finding herself in situations she had tried to suppress, finding herself in moments she had tried to forget. And in every single one of them, Alondra was there. 

Even to the last moment of her life. 

“Ugh,” she groaned when she messed up the design. Now she’d have to cut a new piece of cuero! 

And that was another memory. She’d only ever mess up a design when Alondra was in the shop, talking about her stories. She had messed up so many times that her abuelita had told her Alondra would only be allowed in the shop if she stayed quiet and stopped distracting her. She had agreed, of course, if only to be closer to her dear Alondra. Alondra sit next to her in a chair designated only for her. Every time, she would come with a coke, knowing Victoria loved them, and sit it next to her for her drink when she was thirsty. She loved those moments and often volunteered to go to the market for something just so they could finally talk. They would come back laughing and her abuelita never scolded her. And then they would go back to being in each other’s company in silence. 

When she finished cutting the cuero, she turned around and almost dropped the piece. Were her eyes deceiving her? Alondra sat next to the carving table in a white and yellow vestido, her brown and white hair in her usual two braids that started at the top of her head and finished at the tips, and she just sat there, reading a Frida Kahlo Biography as if it was what she did everyday. She blinked, hoping the image would go away when she opened her eyes again. It didn’t. She stood there for a second before slowly walking over to her own chair and sitting down. She took a glance at Alondra. She didn’t even look up from her book. What was she doing here? Victoria continued to carve, being extra careful to pay attention this time even though Alondra sat next to her. 

She was on the second piece when Alondra spoke up. “You should drink your coke.” Her voice. How did she not notice it sounded so different yesterday? She had grown so much, she didn’t sound like she used to. “I didn’t trade fake rings for nothing.” 

Victoria stared at her for a second. She didn’t even look up. How did she know she had been eyeing it?! When Alondra showed no sign of speaking again, Victoria went back to work for a few minutes before, hesitantly, reaching for the coke. She opened it with her thumb, just like her papá had taught her, and took a good sip of it. It was delicious. She set it back down. “Thank you,” she had said, quietly. And that started the chain reaction. 

Alondra slammed her book closed with a smile. “So you do speak?!” Victoria backed away a bit, surprised, before getting back in her normal position when Alondra spoke again. “Now that we’re alone, you mind answering a few questions?” 

She stayed silent for a moment before she finally spoke. “No, I don’t mind.” She went back to carving.

And that started another chain reaction. “How has your death been?” 

How had her death been? It hadn’t been any different in death than in life until last year, when her abuelito had finally joined the family. But should she even tell her any of this? She still felt a pit in the stomaching she didn’t have telling her she needed to get away. Fast. Nonetheless, she answered. “It’s been...uneventful until lately. W-we found the missing musico.” 

“Was that him yesterday, calling you Viquita,” Alondra asked, sounding like she would laugh. 

Victoria felt annoyed at that. She didn’t really like being called Viquita, but when he said, she felt like the four year old, safe in the embrace of her abuelito’s arms. “Yes, that was him,” she answered annoyed, anyway. For a moment, that queasy feeling was gone.

“How did you all find him?” 

Victoria gave her a look, not knowing Alondra felt so happy when she did. “How long ago did you die?” 

“I died yesterday,” she answered, as if it were normal now. 

Victoria had freaked for a whole month before she finally came to terms with her death. After that came the depression of a missed chance due to her death. But here Alondra was, so quickly to accept it. The queasy feeling came back. Nonetheless, she continued the conversation. “Y-you haven’t heard anything about a Héctor Rivera?” 

“Well, my friend Carlos mentioned a Gran Héctor Rivera, Esteemed Songwrite Lost in Time. I’m not sure what that means.” 

Victoria nodded. Should she ruin the illusion or just tell her? It wouldn’t be fair to her abuelito to keep it from someone. “D-do you remember Ernesto De La Cruz?”

“How could I not,” Alondra all but yelled with a huge smile on her face. “We’d dance to Un Poco Loco until our feet hurt!” She leaned against the table, her face closer than Victoria was comfortable with. “Do you remember that?” 

Ay Dios, the feeling intensified. “He wrote that,” she blurted. Alondra looked at her, confused. “My abuelito wrote Un Poco Loco. He wrote all those songs. El Mundo es Mi familia, Cerca está el amor,  _ Recuérdame _ . He wrote them  _ all _ .” She continued to carve. “They were best friends, they grew up together.” Something he hadn’t personally told her, but what she  had overheard when he vented to Imelda, thinking no one was listening in. “He had poisoned him when he tried to leave their little duo. He took his songs, his guitarra, his life.” She started the swirl of the design. “His lies came to an end when my nephew came from the land of the living and exposed it all last Dia De Muertos. No one knows where he is now.” 

Alondra was taken back by the whole story. “H-he murdered his best friend… for songs?”

Victoria nodded, not looking at her and wishing she would leave. 

“H-how’s your abuelito taking it,” she asked, genuinely concerned. 

“H-h-he tries to act like he’s ok with it,” she got out. After forty years, she still wasn’t sure how her throat could feel dry if she didn’t have one. “But, y-you can tell when he’s thinking too hard about it.” Like this morning. “H-how were the Estados Unidos,” she asked, wanting to stop talking for a while. 

Alondra sat back with a smile. “They weren’t really kind until I wrote my stories,” she admitted, getting a look of genuine concern from her dear Victoria. “When I got there, I spent a few weeks living on the streets and having to eat scraps from trash bins.” She ignored the look Victoria was giving her. “Then a nice woman took me in. Her name was Milagros. She was always talking about the promised land of Aztlan and that one day it would be ours again. She was a very comforting woman. She was like a mother to me. She was kind, always gave me something to eat, always made sure I was ok.” Unlike her own mother, who had been jealous of her youth and was glad to be rid of her after her marriage to Raynaldo. “She taught me how to speak and write in english. And she was there for me when I published my first book, Rosa’s Story. I actually wrote it!” Her smile widened at the ghost of a smile she saw on Victoria’s face. “I had to change a few details, though. It’s not the exact same story I told you all those years ago, but it still gives the same message. None of my books were ever really popular until recently because the gringos over there only like hearing about themselves. But our people started to grow over there,  _ our people _ , Victoria. Siempre became a hit! They even made a movie! I was a co-director!” At the look of confusion of her dear Victoria’s face, she calmed down a bit. “Siempre is our story,” she explained. “I wrote our story a while back. It wasn’t as popular until now, where we’ve made progress in being accep-”

“Our story,” Victoria interrupted. “What do you mean  _ our _ story?” 

Alondra laughed. “Our story, Victoria! Ours! Siempre. Remember? It’s what we would always tell each other. That we would always be together. Siempre.” Victoria stood up and turned away from her.

“I-it’s popular,” she asked.

“Si,” Alondra answered, excitedly. “Our kind loves it! They love my story! Our story! They even made a movie, Victoria! A movie! No one is ever going to forget out story. Nunca!” 

“Nunca?” 

“Nunca!” Oh, she was so excited. And she could tell Victoria was too! “People will look at our story and be inspired! They’ll know not to hide themselves anymore! They’ll have to courage to come out to their families! Be who they are! And it will teach people to accept us more easily! That we are not wrong, no matter what anyone says! Everyone is going to know our story! And they’re going to love it!” 

“Even my family?” 

“Especially your family,” she assured, a huge smile on her face. She wondered why Victoria wasn’t looking at her. This was a happy moment! They should be jumping in joy together! “I dropped off both the movie and the book to Elena yesterday before I died! Your family will know-”

“ _ Why would you do that?! _ ” 

Victoria was looking at her now. Her shaking hadn’t been in excitement. Her eyes were full of fear. And anger. Alondra didn’t understand why. “People needed to hear our story,” she tried to reason, but Victoria wouldn’t have it. 

“No they didn’t! They didn’t need to hear anything about us! No one did! Not the world!  _ No my family _ ! Why would you do that?!” 

Alondra had no idea what she was going off about. “Victoria, this is a good thing! We don’t have to hide anym-”

“ _ I was perfectly fine with hiding _ ! And now it’s popular! My family doesn’t need to know anything about this! They don’t have to know what I am! It’s popular?! Ugh! I was perfectly content with hiding!” 

Alondra glared at her. “Is that really you talking, Victoria? Or is it the coward I saw yesterday?” 

“You don’t get to come here after so long and flip my life upside down again, Alondra! I’m fine where I am! Where my family only sees me and  _ not what I am _ ! They don’t need to know! No one needed to know! And it’s popular? Ay Dios mio, ayudame porfavor! It’s popular! Why is it popular?! Why would you write it?!  _ Why would you do that _ ?!”

“ _ Because I love you _ !” Alondra had no idea what was going on with her. She should be celebrating that they don’t have to hide anymore. Or did they? “And I thought that, where ever you were, you still loved me too.” Who she was looking at now was not her dear Victoria, but a shell. “What happened to you? Did the sacerdotes finally get you?” 

“Get out! Get out, get out, get out! Ay Dios Mio, it’s popular! Get out! Everyone will know now! My family will know! It’s popular! Get out!” 

Alondra shook her head. This was not her dear Victoria. “I’m going home,” she said as Victoria still ranted. “When you’re ready to finally accept that there is nothing wrong with you, I will be waiting.” She didn’t waste any time in leaving the shop. 

“There is something wrong with me,” Victoria yelled as she left. “ _ And it’s you _ !” She grabbed the coke bottle and threw it at the shop doors, where Alondra had just walked through. The bottle shattered into a million pieces and so did Victoria. She finally stopped yelling and finally let out the tears that had begged her to. She went to go grab the broom and dustpan. Picking up broken pieces was hard when she couldn’t see them. She thanked the beautiful Virgen, Guadalupe, that no one from her family had heard and come to check on her. They’d only see a skeleton as broken as the glass she was trying to picking up.

* * *

 

Rosa had left him for her own friends the second they made it to the school. He watched her and her friends enter the school gates in despair. She was the only one who knew where to find his class. The paper he had said it should be room 104, but this school was new and bigger. He had no clue where that was! He looked at the giant gate again, feeling alone. He saw many kids he knew last year, but they weren’t his friends, just kids he would play fútbol with from time to time. His best friend, Antonio, was in some new, fancy school in Mexico City because he had taken some stupid test so he wasn’t here in this new, scary school by his side. How was he supposed to make it without Antonio?! Maybe if he had his guitarra? But he wasn’t allowed to bring that to school. He sighed as he passed another room that wasn’t his. 

“Miguel!” 

His head turned quickly to see a girl with short, straight hair parted to her right. He instantly smiled. “Xitlali!” That was his and Antonio’s only amiga. Now, anyway. Most girls they used to hang out with just started hanging out with each other. But not Xitlali! She was always up for a game of fútbol. He quickly closed the distance between them. “You cut your hair!” 

Xitlali smiled. “Isn’t it nice? My tía did it for me! Now it won’t be in the way when I beat you at fútbol,” she laughed. 

“Pfft, as if! I’m still the fastest runner.” 

“Oh, yeah, cause you run like…” She copied his funny way of running. 

“Hey! It  _ is _ faster,” he defended. “What class do you have anyway,” he asked to get her to stop laughing. 

“I have room 104,” she answered. 

Miguel smiled again. “I do too!” He leaned in. “Do you know where it is,” he whispered. 

Xitlali laughed. “Yes! I actually came with my mamá when she enrolled me.” 

Miguel gave her an annoyed look. “Hey, I was practicing my-”

“Guitarra,” she finished. “Si, yo se. Literally everyone does! The girls are gonna be all over you!”

“Ew,” he grimaced. He wasn’t sure why he thought that way. Most boys his age were already asking out the girls they used to hang out with. He, though, couldn't care less about dating girls. 

Xitlali only laughed. “C’mon! Let’s get to class.” 

They talked about trivial things on the way there and Miguel was completely happy that he knew someone he could talk to. Maybe school wasn’t so bad after all. They sat next to each other, continuing talking until the teacher came in. 

He walked in with a no-nonsense aura to him. The class immediately quieted. Miguel and Xitlali gave each other a look, wondering what would happen. He held a piece of paper as he walked over to the first desk in the room. He looked at the paper as he tapped the desk with his pen. “José Alvarado.” 

“Ugh,” the entire class groaned. Assigned seats?! Seriously? 

As the names went on, Miguel realized it was alphabetical. And Xitlali’s last name was Barrera. She gave him a pained smile as the teacher called her name in the front. He pouted. That was the only person he actually knew in this class! Everyone else was just a familiar face. The teacher continued to call the names until he was close to him. 

“Jorge Ramirez.” 

Miguel took a glance at the boy that was assigned next to him. And he immediately couldn’t help but stare. The boy had a cap of the curliest hair he had ever seen and bright green eyes that contrasted with his caramel skin. He was so distracted that he didn’t realize he had been assigned the seat he was currently sitting in. The boy seemed indifferent to this class, like he he’d be ok if he was or wasn’t here. The boy, Jorge, he remembered, caught his eyes and gave him a slight glare. Miguel immediately turned away, his heart pounding and his face heating up. This boy didn’t even look remotely familiar to him. Was he new? He didn’t remember him from any class in his primary years. Or from any fútbol games. Or even in passing on the street. Jorge Ramirez? He knew a few Jorges, and some even had Ramirez as their last name too! But this kid wasn’t any of them. Miguel turned back to him. “Are you new here,” he whispered. 

“No talking,” the teacher ordered as he continued with the names. 

The boy didn’t answer. 

“I’m Miguel,” he whispered, trying to hold out a hand. 

“No talking,” the teacher repeated before carrying on with the names. 

The boy didn’t even glance at him. He let his hand fall. 

“Do you like music,” he asked, hoping to get an answer. Who didn’t like music?! Even his family loved music now. 

“You’re gonna get me in trouble,” the boy whispered back, annoyance leaking through each word. 

“Both of you,” the teacher yelled coming over. Miguel shrinked in his seat while boy stayed nonchalant. “This is the final warning. Another word out of you and I’m calling your parents.” Miguel nodded at the condition, which seemed to satisfy the teacher before he turned around, leaving them alone. 

Miguel took a glance at the boy, who mocked the teacher once the teacher wasn’t looking. He then sent a glare his way. Maybe it hadn’t been a good idea to annoy him so early in the day. He took it all back. School was the worst. 


	4. Chapter 4

_ “Of course, General,” Héctor said with wide, shiny eyes. “We know what we did was wrong. We shall go and apologize to Señor Guillermo the second we leave this building.” _

_ General Fernando eyed him very closely before sighing and muffling Héctor's hair. “Alright, chamaco, I'll let you off this time. You,” he said sternly, looking to Ernesto. “Do your job and keep an eye on him.”  _

_ “Si, General,” he nodded.  _

_ “Bueno. Now get out of here!” _

_ They left the building laughing like a pair of children only to run in to a glaring Ceci. “Hola, Ceci,” Héctor said, overly joyous.  _

_ Ceci wasn’t having it, though. “Pinch pendejos!” She grabbed them both by the ears and dragged them away from the prisión. “Que estabas pensando?!” She let go of their ears as a fair distance to yell at them some more. “Were you even thinking at all?! Tan estúpidos! Why do I call you two my friends?!” _

_ “Because you love us,” Héctor tried. _

_ “Because we’re the only ones that tolerate you,” Ernesto replied, honestly.  _

_ Héctor chuckled nervously at Ceci’s evergrowing glare before jabbing an elbow into Ernesto’s side. “Cállate, cabrón,” he whispered harshly.  _

_ “It’s true,” Ernesto said, rubbing his side.  _

_ “You two are idiots,” Ceci growled. “Especially you, Ernesto! You’re the older one!”  _

_ “Why does that automatically make me responsible?!”  _

_ “Because you have to be,” she seethed. “My papá already has his eye on you. He suspects! It’s a thin line and no proof that keeps his gun away from your head!”  _

_ Ernest gave her a cheeky grin. “Why, Ceci, there is nothing to suspect,” he said ever so smoothly, giving her a suggestive expression.  _

_ Ceci rolled her eyes. “Stuff like that is what will get you killed by all the padres whose hijas go crying to them.” _

_ “Wait, wait, I don’t get it,” Héctor intervened, his eyes wide and innocent. “What does your papá suspect.” They both gave him a look that clearly said he was an idiot. He felt like one after he realized. “Oh.” Then it hit him. “Oh! Ew, Ceci! You should’ve waited for your husband!”  _

_ Ceci laughed, shaking her head. “Name me one mujer in this town that actually waited for her husband.”  _

_ “My mamá!”  _

_ Ernesto snorted. “Your mamá?”  _

_ “Si! I mean, look at me. I came out the perfect angel!” _

_ “My dad almost killed you for torturing his chickens,” Ceci deadpanned.  _

_ “I was teaching them to sing,” he clarified, indignant.  _

_ Ceci giggled. “You’re such a child, Héctor.” _

_ “I am a man!”  _

_ Those words caused Ceci and Ernesto to bend over laughing. Héctor was ok with it, let them have their laughs! It became insulting after three minutes, though. By then, Ernesto had his hand on his side, depending on Ceci to keep him up.  _

_ “If you looked anything like a man,” Ernesto started, trying to suppress his laughter. “We wouldn’t have gotten off so easily!”  _

_ “Hé-é-é-éctor,” an angry voice called in a distance.  _

_ Héctor froze, his face going pale, as Ernesto and Ceci shared a look of concern. “Go, amigo,” Ernesto said, sounding overly gentle. “It’ll be ok.”  _

_ Héctor nodded, believing his friend. “I-I-I’ll see you guys tomorrow.” _

_ “Sneak out earlier tomorrow,” Ceci suggested. “That way you’ll have more time.” _

_ Héctor nodded before giving them a best attempt at a smile. “You two make it really hard to not suspect by the way.”  _

_ That’s when they both realized they still held on to each other. They immediately pushed away from each other, their faces red. Héctor laughed before running towards the direction of his papá’s voice.  _

_ Ernesto and Ceci watched him go, their hearts aching. That poor boy. He came to see them today, just like any day, knowing what would come by the end of it. “How much money do you have with you, Ernesto?” Ceci turned to him, the embarrassment of mere seconds ago, gone.  _

_ “I have a few pesos I stole from some of mi mamá’s conquests.”  _

_ “I think I have a few at home,” she thought aloud. “I’ll go get them. Meet me at the mercado,” she told him as she headed towards her hacienda.  _

_ “Wait, wait,” Ernesto stalked after her. “I thought we were gonna wait until his birthday.”  _

_ “It’s too far! He can’t keep using yours every time a tune comes to his head.”  _

_ Ernesto nodded. “So we get it for him now? And give it to him tomorrow?” _

_ “Precisely!”  _

_ “Sounds like a plan,” Ernesto laughed, joyously.  _

_ “Good! Meet at the mercado! He deserves the best one!”  _

_ They looked at the guitars hanging up on the stand. While Ceci thought the nice, brown one would look good for Héctor, she could see Ernesto eyeing the shiny one with a reddish tinge to it.  _

_ “How much for this one,” she asked, pointing to the brown one. The vendor told her. Ceci nodded before lightly smacking Ernesto’s arm. “You heard the man. Pay him.”  _

_ If the light smacking didn’t get his attention, that certainly did. “Me?! I thought we were both pitching in!”  _

_ Ceci shook her head. “Turns out, I didn’t have money like I thought. But,” she smiled up at him, knowing it always worked. “Think of how happy Héctor will be when  _ you _ present him with the guitarra  _ you _ bought him.” She could see him trying, and failing, to not fall for her tricks. She went on. “He’ll think you’re the most amazing person in the world! Not that he doesn’t already.” He wasn’t fully convinced. She bumped it up with the charm and looked up at him from under her eyelashes, her smile suggesting. “You’ll gain a best friends loyalty.” She placed a hand on his chest. “And something else~.”  _

_ He didn’t say anything for a few seconds. Then he proceeded to pay the man as he said, “You’re secretly the devil.” The vendor handed him the guitar. _

_ She squealed in glee. “Héctor is going to be so happy!”  _

_ “And so am I,” Ernesto exclaimed proudly, picking her up by the waist with a spin.  _

_ Ceci waited until she was finally planted on the ground to speak. “Ok.” She was back to business. “Take the guitarra home. Make sure nothing happens to it.”  _

_ “Got it,” he said with a nod before giving her a quick peck on the cheek and headed for his home.  _

_ Ceci watched him go with a fond smile. This moment couldn’t last, though. “Ernesto,” she called, sweetly. He turned to look at her, expectantly. She gave him a slight glare. “Nothing!” She growled.  _

_ “Ay, pinche mujer,” she heard him yelling. “I know how to take care of a guitarra!” She only smiled. When he was completely out of sight, she turned back to the vendor and pulled out her pouch of pesos. “How much is that one,” she asked, pointing at the shiny one Ernesto had been looking at.  _

_ The vendor gave her pouch a look before giving her the same look. “You secretly are the devil.”  _

_ She only smiled. “I try.” _

_... _

_ They met up at her house, like they always did. She had glared at Ernesto until he apologized to her papá and she felt satisfied. “Hide the guitar before he gets here,” she ordered. “I want him to be surprised!” _

_ “Speaking of surprises,” Ernesto drawled. “Your papá trusted you alone with me.”  _

_ It was true. When Ceci had told him Héctor was on his way soon, her papá didn’t hesitate to go on a morning walk with her mamá. “My papá didn’t trust me alone with  _ you _ ,” she laughed. “He trusted me alone with  _ Héctor _.”  _

_ Ernesto chuckled. “I don’t see Héctor.” He grabbed her by the waist and brought her close. “So, how should we spend our alone time, Cecilia?”  _

_ There was a know at the door.  _

_ Ceci smiled at his annoyed expression. “By opening the door for our dear friend.” She pulled away from him and opened the door. “Héctor,” she greeted, bringing him into a hug.  _

_ “Hola, Ceci,” his muffled words came from her chest. He took a huge breath when she finally let him go.  _

_ “How come I never get hugs like that,” Ernesto accused.  _

_ “Ernesto!” Héctor smiled up at him with that goofy smile. “Buenos dias!”  _

_ “Buenos dias, amigo,” Ernesto greeted with a laugh while lightly slapping his shoulder. His laughter ceased when Héctor made a weird noise and scrunched his face in pain. Ernesto took a wild guess that it was pain from a bruise that hadn’t been there yesterday. He would kill that man one day. “Sorry,” he said softly.  _

_ “It’s ok,” he said, his voice even softer.  _

_ Ceci gave him a pained look before forcing a smile. “So, I was thinking,” she got their attention. She held up a peso. “Heads, we go to the plaza! Tails we go to the river.”  _

_ “I hope it’s heads,” he whispered to Ernesto.  _

_ “Me too,” he agreed.  _

_ But it wasn’t either. Ceci flipped it too hard with her fingers and it went flying behind the sofá, where Ernesto had hidden the guitarra. “I’ll get it,” he said, seeing it as a cue to show Héctor his new guitarra.  _

_ “No, I don’t trust you,” Ceci stopped him. “You’ll tell me what side you want to go. Go get it, Héctor.”  _

_ And Héctor did, not thinking anything was wrong. He got down on his knees before he even reached behind the sofá and saw the coin. He immediately grabbed it with a smile. “It’s heads!” He jumped up in excitement, still staring at it. That’s when he noticed there was something else behind the couch. He slowly let his hand fall to his side as he stared at the beautiful, brown guitarra laying on the floor. “I-is-i,” he tried to speak, but words wouldn’t come. He let the peso fall as he leaned over and picked up the guitarra. He turned to his friends, tears about to form. “You guys bought this for me?”  _

_ His voice was so soft and vulnerable that Ceci wanted to cry. “Ernesto bought it for you,” she smiled.  _

_ Tears started falling from his eyes as he started laughing. “I thought you guys were gonna wait for my birthday?!”  _

_ Ceci stared at him in shock before turning to Ernesto with a glare. “Dije que no le dijeras!”  _

_ “I didn’t!”  _

_ Héctor laughed at their bickering. “Actually, Lupita from the naranja stand told me.”  _

_ “Eugh,” Ceci let out a sound of disgust.  _

_ “What’s wrong with Lupita,” Ernesto asked. She was a nice girl and an even better kisser.  _

_ “Pinche Lupita es una pinche putita,” she growled. “I don’t like her!”  _

_ Héctor laughed. He knew Ernesto eyed anything with legs, which didn’t really suit well with Ceci. But that was their problem to figure out. He looked at the guitarra. He had his own to figure out as well.  _

_ They bickered for a few more minutes before realizing Héctor was extremely quiet. They both fell silent as they turned to him and saw that he was only staring at guitarra. “Oye, amigo,” Ernesto started. “You ok?”  _

_ “...I’m not gonna be able to take this home,” he whispered.  _

_ Ernesto and Ceci shared a look. “You can keep it here, before you go home,” Ceci offered.  _

_ “Could you go boil some hot chocolate,” Ernesto whispered in her ear. This was something that only he could deal with. Ceci could never relate to wanting a parent to love you when she had two that loved her with all their hearts. He watched as Ceci nodded and headed to the kitchen.  _

_ “Oye, chamaco, don’t worry about it so much.” He gently put an arm around his shoulder, remembering the bruise. “One day, we’ll be rid of these putos we have to call parents! We’ll be rich and famous! Everyone will wait in long lines just to hear our music. Our language, Héctor! We’ll look back and laugh at how they said we’d never make it while surrounded by fans. No! Family! Who needs these putos when the world will be our family!” _

_ “El mundo es nuestra familia,” Ernesto heard him whisper. “I like that!” He brushed away from Ernesto’s hug. “What else did you say? Que la música es nuestra lengua?” Héctor nodded at the words. “I love that!” He looked at the guitarra in a new light before he started to play a tune. “Eugh,” he let out a sound of disgust before tuning the guitarra. Ernesto was a bit jealous that it only took him a few months to tune it by ear when it took him two years. The guitarra was tuned in no time and Héctor was playing a nice tune.  _

Pues la música es mi lengua y el mundo es mi familia!

_ Ernesto was surprised that he came up with a song so quickly with just two sentences. He smiled, nonetheless, and sang along.  _

Pues la música es mi lengua y el mu-u-undo es mi familia-a-a-a!

_ “We have to make this song longer,” Héctor noted. “No one’s gonna wanna listen to the same verse over and over, no matter how great we sing it.”  _

_ Ernest nodded. “Oye! We got all day, don’t we?” _

_ Héctor smiled before sniffing the air. “Is that hot chocolate?”  _

_ “Yeah, Ceci’s making it.”  _

_ Héctor looked at him, betrayed. “Then what are we standing here talking about songs for! Let’s go get some!”  _

_ Ernesto laughed as Héctor dragged him to the kitchen. _

* * *

 

“I never liked that song.” 

Héctor jumped at the sound of Imelda’s voice. He turned to her, not even knowing he had been deep in a memory. “Mande?”

“El Mundo Es Mi Familia,” she drawled out as if it were a curse. “I never liked it. I admit, in my youth, when you sung it for my quince, it was great. But when we had Coco and you kept singing it, it became a bit insulting.” 

He looked down at Cheech’s guitarra. He wasn’t even aware that he had been playing the song. “Oh.” Was all he could say. Imelda was already starting to cook for the family that he was sure was awake. He let the strange memory fade in his head as he smiled at his wife. Imelda hated waking up early. If she had never had little brothers to watch over, or had to help around the house, or had never become a mother, or had never had a business to run, she’d probably sleep until noon every day. There was the brief period of peace after their marriage, where she would sleep in everyday and feel guilty that he had to make breakfast for them. She was so used to people waking her up. Then she got pregnant and those days were over as quickly as they came. “How about I play a more upbeat tune?” And with that he started with Un Poco Loco.

Imelda sent him a smile. “Now that’s a song!” She started cooking with a swing in her step. He had played her the song after their wedding when mass was finally over and her family, now theirs, had celebrated for three days straight. He had taken her name, just like he said he would, wanting to get rid of any connection to that puto he was forced to call a papá. She loved the song so much, reminding her of a few memories she had spent years trying to forget. But her husband was here and everything was right with the world. Except one thing. “Amor,” she called to Héctor. He gave her an expectant look while still playing the song, albeit softly. “Donde esta Victoria? I didn’t see her in the living room.” 

“She told me she was going to be working in the shop for the day, finish a few orders early or something,” he explained. “I’ll go check on her if you want.” Not that he wouldn’t check on her if she didn’t. 

Imelda shook her head. “No, no, I’m sure she’s fine. The shop comforts her.” She’d make sure to ask what was worrying her so much that she had to work on a saturday. “Was she awake when you were?”

“Like clockwork,” Héctor nodded. “She drank a coffee and asked me about some songs I wrote in España.”

“I think I remember those,” she commented. She started to sing. 

_ Todos estan buscará _

_ Cuando yo toco mi guitarra _

Héctor smiled. He couldn’t believe she remembered that song, it was such a long time ago. But, then again, he remembered everything that had to do with Imelda. Like when they first met.

* * *

 

_ “That says ‘declares’,” Héctor said, pointing at the word. Ernesto had decided that it was time he learned how to read so that he could write his own songs and Héctor jumped at the chance to help. He brought his bible from home and decided that reading from the holy book was a good place to start. “Start over,” he said gently.  _

_ Ernesto sighed. Why was this so hard?! “F-f-for I k-no-” _

_ “You don’t pronounce the K,” Héctor reminded. “Start over.” _

_ “F-for I no the plans I haf for yu, declares the lord,” Ernesto read somewhat perfectly. It was in improvement from yesterday at least. “Plans to pro-spur-” _

_ “Prosper,” Héctor corrected.  _

_ “Prosper,” Ernesto read correctly. “Yu an not to harm yu, plans to gif yu hope an a foo-tur.”  _

_ “Future,” Héctor corrected. Ernesto slammed the bible shut. “Orale,” Héctor yelled, snatching his bible from his hands. “You don’t do that to such a holy thing!” He checked to see if Ernesto did any harm to it.  _

_ “Why is reading so hard?!” _

_ “You should’ve paid attention in bible study,” Héctor accused. “Then it wouldn’t be so hard!” _

_ “I don’t go to bible study,” Ernesto reminded. He had to make sure his pinche madre didn’t drink herself stupid. One of these days she would and he would finally be rid of her. Until then, he’d continue to be a good son.  _

_ “You should start then,” Héctor suggested, not knowing his inner turmoil. “Padre Ysidro would happily help any child of god.” _

_ Ernesto laughed. “I’m no child of god, mi amigo!” He got a few glares from a few people, but he didn’t mind. He started strumming his guitarra. His new guitarra. After Hécor was called by his papá, Ceci had given him it as a surprise. It was the one he had been staring at  when buying the one for Héctor. He hadn’t seen Ceci in a few days, actually. _

_ Héctor rolled his eyes. “Oh, but you can read music,” he taunted.  _

_ “It’s our language, remember,” he laughed.  _

_ Héctor laughed as well. At of the corner of his eyes, he recognized the wonderful mop of red curls that belonged to Ceci. He was about to call for her when he noticed something. “Oye, who’s that with Ceci?” He had never seen that girl before. She had long, black hair that was in a braid and her eyes were were a beautiful, golden brown when the sun hit them. She wore a white and brown dress and matching boots. She must have been shopping since her basket was full of food and roses.  _

_ Ernest gave a confused look. “I’ve never seen her before.” _

_ But Héctor didn’t hear him for a rose fell out of the girl’s basket and he was already on his way to help. He picked up the rose and ran after her. “Perdoname, señorita,” he called for her attention. And he got it, though she didn’t look all that happy. Ceci, though, looked like she was having a blast at the exchange. The girl was a few inches taller than him and looked a bit scary with the glare she was giving him. He hesitantly held up the flower. “Su flor, señorita.”  _

_ The girl rolled her eyes, looking like she was completely fed up with everything. She looked at him again, her glare intensifying. “Oigame, niño,” she growled while taking a step forward, causing him to cower a bit. “Yo no quiero su pinche flor! And you can go tell your stupid little friends that, tambien!” She turned away from him with such force that if he had been any closer, her braid would’ve slapped him.  _

_ He stood there for a second, confused. Other little friends? What was she talking about? Did she- did she think that he was- No! No! He was just returning the flower she had dropped! He ran after her and Ceci and blocked her path. “Lo siento, señorita, but I think you misunderstood me! This is su flor!”  _

_ He coward again when she took a menacing step towards him. “I already told you-” _

_ “From your basket,” he yelled, desperately trying to get her to understand. “Y-you dropped it.”  _

_ He watched as she gave him a skeptical look before counting her flowers. Her eyes went wide before turning to look back at the flower. He sighed in relief, presenting it to her again. She hesitantly took it. “Gr-gracias,” she stuttered.  _

_ He smiled, relieved that she finally understood. “De nada!” He held out a hand. A new friend sounded great right now. “Me llamo-” _

_ “Hé-é-é- _

* * *

 

“-éctor!” His snapped in the direction of his wife. “I asked you a question, amor,” she gave him a slight glare. 

“Oh, sorry,” he apologized with a sheepish smile. “Can you repeat it?”

She rolled her eyes. “I asked if you’d like some chorizo with your eggs.”

He started to laugh uncontrollably. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this took so long. I've been busy with my TSI's and FAFSA. I'M GOING TO COLLEGE!! But, anyway, enjoy this chapter! Love you all.

Miguel decided he didn’t like school. Not if he had to sit next to  _ Jorge _ . He was constantly telling him what he was doing was wrong, always had something to say when Miguel tried to answer a question, and was just absolutely rude. He was glad to be rid of him when it was finally time to go home. 

“He can’t be that bad,” Xitlali tried. 

It was no use, though. Miguel had made up his mind. “He is! He told me my favorite color can’t be pink!”

“That’s a girl’s color,” Xitlali reminded. 

“No it’s not! My Papá Héctor wore a pink charro suit, my Mamá Coco told me so!”

“Ok, ok,” Xitlali held up her hands in defeat. “Your favorite color can be pink! But that’s not something to get mad about. Antonio used to say it all the time.”

“Yeah, but he’s not Antonio. He’s a jerk!”

Xitlali rolled her eyes. “Ok, Miguel. I’ll see you tomorrow, ok?” 

Miguel gave her a quick wave goodbye, still in bad mood. He walked passed the shop, not wanting to greet his family just yet, and headed into the hacienda. The act proved to be useless since all the women of the family, minus Rosa and abuelita, were in the kitchen, talking. 

“-doesn’t look anything like me,” his Tía Gloria gloria said, looking over his Tía Carmen’s shoulder and at the magazine she was reading. 

“It really does,” his mamá laughed. “The only difference is that her nose is smaller!”

“Ay, those pinche Garcias,” his Tía denied. “I bet they just photoshopped it to make it look like me! Kids are doing that a lot nowadays. And there hasn’t been any drama between us in a while. I bet they’re just trying to spice things up!” 

“The picture looks pretty real to me,” Tía Carmen laughed. “I wonder who that baby is, though. The poor primera esposa! You think the child died with her?”

“Why are we even in the Garcias’ business,” Gloria asked, annoyed. “We should be in our own business! Aren’t Rosa and Miguel home from school yet? Let's ask them about their day.” 

“The Garcias sound more interesting,” his mamá commented, causing him to feel offended. 

“I agree,” Carmen said. 

Gloria rolled her eyes. And they were their children! Oh, well. She couldn’t do much about it. 

“I wonder how she was able to keep that smile on her face,” his mamá thought aloud. 

“Didn’t it take forever to capture a photo back then,” his tía Carmen thought as well. “Her face had to have hurt after a while.”

“Verdad! Even I can't smile for that long.” 

“Que estas haciendo aqui,” his abuelita barged in causing his mamá and Tía Carmen to scream. 

Gloria pointed at them from the sink. “They’re slacking off, Amita! Reading all that chisme! About the Garcias!” 

“Do not mention those people in this house,” his abuelita demanded. “They are not welcomed here! Now, where is Miguel?!”

The women all looked at each other, confused. They hadn’t been aware that the kids were home.

Miguel decided to emerge from his hiding spot. “I’m right here, abuelita.”

“Ay, mi angelito!” His abuelita rushed over to him, crushing him in a hug and shoving his face in her chest. He took a deep breath when she let him go. “How come you didn’t come say hi to the family! Rosa did. We were all waiting for you!” 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, still not in a good mood. He could tell by the look of his abuelita’s face that she already knew something was up. 

She gave a curt nod. “Everybody to the shop!” 

While his mamá and Tía Carmen got up and headed for the shop, his Tía Gloria stayed where she was. “I’m about to start cooking, Amita,” she explained. “The kids can just tell me about their day later.” 

His abuelita seemed to be alright with that for she didn’t say anything else, only dragged him along to the shop. He took a peek at the photo his Tía Carmen had left on the table, open. His eyes widened. It really did look like Tía Gloria! That was the only thought he could have, though, for he was soon out of the kitchen and in the shop. 

Once they were all gone, Gloria decided to take a look at the photo again. The colorless photo stood out from the colorful magazine. The woman had a round face and big eyes. It was hard to tell if she was wearing makeup or not, did they even wear makeup back then. It would explain her smiling dark lips. And her hair seemed to be brown, not black, since it was a light shade of grey unlike the pitch black the man’s was. And her nose was small. Gloria concluded with pride that the woman  _ did not _ look like her. She closed the magazine with a smile and started cooking. 

“So how was your day, Miguel,” his Abuelito asked him. 

His abuelita cleared a space for him next to Rosa to do his homework as well. “It was ok,” he answered as he started on his math. 

Everyone in the shop gave him a look, not liking his tone. It wasn’t a happy one. 

“Did anything fun happen,” his Tío Berto asked. 

Miguel could tell they were prying. “Nope. Sólo un día normal de escuela.”

His mamá nodded. “Do you like your classes?”

“They’re good.”

Rosa raised a brow. She knew something that would lift his spirits. “How’s Antonio doing?”

Miguel instantly felt worse. “Antonio doesn’t go to my school,” he admitted, annoyed and upset. “He goes to some big, fancy school because he’s smart now!” 

The Rivera family instantly knew what was wrong with their poor boy. “Well, I’m sure he’ll come visit you,” his papá assured. 

“Yeah, ok.” 

That didn’t seem to cheer him up at all. 

“Mijo,” his mamá called. “Are you sure you’re alright? You don’t seem to be.”

“Estoy bien, mamá.” 

Rosa tried again. “Hey, was that Xitlali you were walking with?”

Everyone let out a sigh of relief when his head shot up with a smile. “Oh, yeah! It was! She cut her hair!”

“Oh, she did,” his Tío Berto asked. 

Miguel nodded enthusiastically. “It looks really pretty.”

“I bet it does,” his primo, Abel, laughed. 

Rosa started chuckling too. “How pretty was it?”

“Really pretty,” he repeated, happy to compliment his friend. “She said she loves it and hopes it doesn’t grow back.” 

“Well, it’ll have to,” his abuelo said. “It only stops growing when you’re my age.”

His abuelita laughed before giving her husband a kiss on the cheek. A year ago, Miguel would’ve recoiled at the scene. But after his adventure in the land of the dead, he only found the gesture sweet. His day was instantly brightened when thinking about his adventure. He tried not to think about if he made his Mamá Coco remember in time. He hoped that didn’t matter because she remembered now and Papá Héctor had told him that when there was no one left in the living world who remembered you, only then would you truly be gone. But now he was remembered by Mamá Coco and his family, nevermind all the fans. “Well, she hopes it doesn’t,” Miguel replied to his abuelito. “She likes how it flows and that it’s easier to comb.”

“And it’s pretty, right,” Abel asked again, snickering. 

Miguel looked at him annoyed. He had just said that it was! “Yes.” He turned to his padres. “Maybe she can come over tomorrow and you all can see it!”

“I don’t see why not,” his papá answered. 

“Yeah, I don’t see why not either,” Rosa said, snickering. She glanced at Abel and they both couldn’t hold it in anymore. They burst out laughing. 

“Now what is so funny, you two,” their mamá yelled, annoyed at them as much as he was. 

“Isn’t it obvious,” Abel asked, a huge smile. 

Rosa giggled. “Miguel has a crush on Xitlali!” 

“Oh,” his family went, as if realizing something that was right in front of them. 

“I do not,” Miguel yelled, disgusted. “Xitlali is just my friend.”

“Sure,” Rosa giggled. 

“Just a friend,” Abel agreed with a laugh. 

“Both of you, stop messing with your cousin,” his Tío Berto scolded. Finally, someone was on his side. “Don’t you see he’s embarrassed about his newfound love.” His Tío Berto started laughing, and so did the rest of the men. The women could only smile. 

Miguel instantly hated the day again. He needed to get away from people who liked to make fun of him. “Where’s mamá Coco?”

His papá stopped laughing long enough to answer. “She’s in her room, mijo.” 

Miguel put his pencil down and walked out of the shop, heading towards his Mamá Coco’s room. If there was anyone in the world who would listen to his problem, it would be Mamá Coco. Even if she couldn’t answer back. Her door was open, like it always was when everyone was awake. She was sitting on her wheelchair, as usual. Miguel sat down on the ground before her and just started talking. “Hola, Mamá Coco.” She didn’t say anything back. “My day at school wasn’t so good. I thought it would be great when I found out I had a class with my friend, Xitlali. You remember her, right? She used to play fútbol with me and Antonio, but Antonio goes to some new school now because he’s smart. And I was really happy that Xitlali was still my friend and that we had the same class together. But we don’t even get to sit next to each other! I have to sit next to stupid Jorge!” He looked up at his mamá Coco. She hadn’t stirred. “He’s so mean mamá Coco. He was telling me everything I was doing wrong in class. And so rude, too! And he told me I can’t like the color pink! Papá Héctor liked the color pink! Why can’t I! He’s so annoying. He’s annoying to look at too. With his stupid, curly hair and his green, shiny eyes.” He looked down at his hands and started messing with his fingernails, feeling a bit uncertain. “I guess he’s handsome. Xitlali told me he was.” He became indignant again. “But that doesn’t mean he can be mean!” He looked at his bisabuela. She hadn’t moved an inch. He got up and ran to get his guitar. He knew he had promised his mamá he would get his homework done before he practiced his guitar, but he really needed to hear Mamá Coco’s voice right now. Maybe something about Papá Héctor. He sat down in front of her and started to sing Recuérdame. It wasn’t long before she started singing along. Soon, her blank eyes turned to into shiny ones filled with love. 

“I know that song,” she said slowly. “My papá used to sing it to me when I was a little girl.”

Miguel laughed. “I know, Mamá Coco.” He scooted closer to her. “Can you tell me about him?” He didn’t care if she told him one he already heard. He just needed to hear about his Papá Héctor from someone who knew him. 

“Of, course, Miguel.” She gave him a smile. “My papá once told me about a time during the revolution. I wasn’t even born yet.” Miguel’s interest skyrocketed when she mentioned the revolution. He hadn’t heard this one. “There was a raid here, in Santa Cecilia. People took refuge in a church or an orphanage. I don’t remember. But I remember he told me that he and my mamá were there too. They weren’t married yet. My tíos were with them too, just boys at the time. When they heard the shootings, they cried. So did other children. My papá did what he did best. He sang! It was a song about an ugly woman an ugly man loved.”

“Juanita,” Miguel let out, unbidden. He instantly covered his mouth. His Mamá Coco was nonethewiser. 

“Have I already told you this story,” she asked, curious. 

Miguel nodded, lying. “But I like it! Where were you? He was singing Juanita?”

“Oh! Si!” His mamá Coco smiled his beautiful smile. “He sang it, and all the children huddled around him, finally stopping their cries. My Mamá told me it was the moment she knew she was in love with him.” 

Miguel smiled. It wasn’t often he heard about his mamá Imelda and Paps Héctor, before the murder and the shoe business. Only from his Mamá Coco. Did they love to dance? Did they dance together? How did they meet? Was it love at first sight? Would they have had more children if Ernesto hadn’t murdered him? What was their wedding like? How were they around each other? Did mamá Imelda smile all the time? Was she happy once? Like, truly happy? With her family and choices in marrying Héctor? All these questions raced through his mind and only Mamá Coco would have the answers. “What were Mamá Imelda and Papá Héctor like? Juntos?” He looked up at his Mamá Coco only to see her blank stare. She was out again. He had been quiet for too long. Now he’d have to ask the questions another time. He stood up and gave his Mamá Coco a kiss on the cheek. “Te quiero mucho, Mamá Coco. I’ll talk to you later.” He still had homework to finish.

* * *

 

Alondra wasn’t expecting anyone when a knock came to the door two weeks later. Carlos or Estephania would have called first. She had learned that they were siblings on their way to visit their mamá who had recently been deported by that pinche cheeto the Estados Unidos had to call a president. Their plane had crashed. Now they have a grieving mamá and Estephania had a wife who would be forgotten one day because she was an anglo woman that didn’t celebrate the tradition and had never met her suegra. It was sad, but Estephania was spending every second she could with her wife. Sometimes they would spend their seconds here. But they would’ve called first. “Uh,” she set down the book she reading. “Who is it?” She looked through the peephole and her eyes widened. She knew that charro hat anywhere! She threw the door open with a, “Papá!”, and threw her arms around the skeleton’s neckbone. The skeleton hugged back.

“It’s so good to see you, mija!” 

Oh, her papá! The only man in the world who had ever treated her kindly. The only man in the world she could ever trust. The only man in the world that had ever been there for her. The only man in the world that never let her down. The only man in the world she had ever loved. Why hadn’t she thought to find him sooner?! 

“Indeed,” said a scraggly, terrible voice she had been so happy to be rid of when she left to the Estados Unidos. She partially broke from her papá to see a skeleton with cold, brown eyes staring her way.  

Alondra glared at her. °Mamá.”

“How was life after you left,” she asked, her voice a tad judgmental. “Was it cold and bitter?”

Alondra chose to ignore her  and turned to her papá with a smile. “I made it so far in the Estados Unidos, papá! I wrote so many stories and have so many fans! They love me over there, papá!”

He smiled at her. “I always told you your stories were good.” 

“They were, papá!” She smiled up at him like a little girl to her hero. “Would you like to come inside? You must be tired of standing.” She stepped to the side to let him enter and glared the puta dared to even think the offer was extended to her and walked in as well. She closed the door. “Would you like something to drink, papá? I think I have horchata.” 

“No, mija, I’m fine,” he declined, sitting on her desk chair. 

“I’d like a glass of water,” her Mamá demanded. A londra looked at her for a second before getting her glass of water. If her papá weren’t here, she would have already smacked that skull of her body. She held the water at an arm's distance and her mamá took it. She didn’t even take a sip. 

Alondra turned to her papá before she said something that would upset him. “People love my stories, papá. Especially Rosa’s Story. I had to change it a bit appeal to the anglo viewers, but it’s still the same story with the same message.” 

“What about Esperanza?” 

Alondra smiled at that. That was a story about how all of the latino countries united into one kingdom called Esperanza. The heir to the throne, Esperanza, goes in hiding after the kingdom is overrun by Spain. She had to go through a lot in the next seven years before she was able to come out of hiding and take her kingdom back. That was the summary of it, anyway. Everyone had loved it. “That one I wrote a little later in life, so I didn’t have to change a thing! I even kept the green hair, our symbol of hope.”

Her papá smiled at her. “I knew you could do it, Mija! I just wish you didn’t have to leave us to do it.” 

She nodded. She wished she didn’t. But if she had stayed there, with Raynaldo, with Victoria always a distance away, she would have gone mad. It was about time she told her papá what her mamá had always failed to tell him. “Papá, there’s something I need to tell you about that.” 

“About what, Mija?”

“About why I left.” He looked at her confused.  “One the of the reasons I left was because-”

Knock Knock Knock!

She looked to the door. She still  wasn’t expecting anyone. She looked to her papá. He shrugged. 

“He’s here!” Her mamá yelled before going towards the door. 

Alondra immediately stood up. “You do not open the door in my house,” she seethed as she rushed and grabbed the handle before her mamá could reach the door. She opened it for two seconds-

“Alondra!”

-before slamming it shut. She backed away from the door. “Why is he here?”

“Because he’s your husband,” her mamá yelled at her, outraged. “He’s allowed to see you!” Alondra stood there, frozen, as her mamá opened the door. 

He looked better than the last time she saw him. His hair was combed, there wasn’t that much red in his eyes, he was dressed up, and he held a bouquet of flowers. 

“Raynaldo,” her mamá greeted, happily. 

“Hola, Señora Chavez,” he greeted with that stupid overly polite voice he had used to fool everyone. He gladly took the hug her mamá was offering before looking to her. He took a hesitant step forward, as if she would knock his skull of his body again. And she would too if he dared to take a step closer. “Alondra-”

“Alejate de mi,” she seethed, taking a step back. “Stay away! Why are you here?!”

“That is no way to treat your husband,” her mamá scolded. 

“He is not my husband,” she all but cried. “Death did us apart a long time ago! And even if it hadn’t, I still wouldn’t consider him my husband!” She turned to her papá, who was watching the scene unfold with wide eyes. “Papá! He is a bad, bad man! Please don’t let him near me!”

At that, her papá stood up, instinctively, and shielded her from Raynaldo. “What’s going on, Mija?”

“Alondra, please listen-,” Raynaldo started, but there was no way she was going to let him finish. 

“He used to beat me, papá! With whatever he got his hands on when he came home after a night with his amigos! Sometimes even with his fists, papá! I don’t want him near me!” 

Her papá gave her a look, then looked to the floor, thinking. She hoped he would take her side. He looked to her again. “You’ve told me this before.” 

And it was true. She had. Back when she was still afraid of the puta she had as a mother and had spoken quietly to her papá, but she had still heard. She had said to stop being ‘ungrateful’ and that he was her husband. That she should submit, like God always said. And, back then, she had. But, no mas. “I have,” she told him. “But  _ she _ ,” she pointed to her mamá. “She always made it seem like it wasn’t that bad.” She looked back to her papá. “He used to give me black eyes, papá! I would stay in the house for those day, so that you didn’t see them. And I always had my shawl over my arms because that’s where he would leave bruises!” 

“Alondra, if you would just-”

“ _ You do not get to speak in my home _ ,” she yelled at Raynaldo. “You don’t even get to stand in my presence! Get out!” He opened his mouth to speak again. “Get out!” He closed it. He set the flowers on her desk as he walked out. When the door was shut, her mamá spoke. 

“How dare you speak to your husband that way.”

“You are not allowed to speak in my house, either!” She turned back to her papá. “Papá, she knew it all along! She knew that he beat me!” 

“Mentirosa!”

“She knew, papá,” she repeated, ignoring her. “And she never told you because she is evil! She was happy knowing that I was being withered away by a violent husband!” 

“Mentirosa!” 

“She knew, papá! She has always hated me! I don’t know why, papá, but she has never been a mamá to me.” She wiped away the tears she hadn’t been aware she had shed before hugging her papá. “Please believe me, papá. Please! You’re my papá, I need you to believe me,” she sobbed. She felt her heart break a bit when he slowly broke the hug. “Please, papá,” she softly cried. “Please.” 

“Is it true,” he asked her mamá. 

“Amor, do you honestly believe-”

“Is it true,” he interrupted, raising his voice. 

Alondra had never felt so happy. Her papá was on her side. 

Her mamá started to stutter, trying to find words to say. Finally, she gave Alondra an ugly look. “He was curing her!” 

Her happiness shattered in an instant. 

“What,” Her papá asked, confused. 

“He was curing her,” her mamá repeated. “This...this...disgracia! She fooled around with women, amor! Raynaldo was trying to cure her!”

Alondra froze when her papá took a step away from her. She looked to her mamá with complete hatred. “You puta.”

“You do not speak to your mamá that way!”

“You are not my mamá! You have never loved me!”

“How could I love such a disgracia! You are a sin!” 

“ _ I am not _ !” She turned to her papá. “Papá, I am not a sin. I’ve read the bible, I practiced my catholic ways in the Estados Unidos, I went to church every sunday even when all they did was say people like me were wrong! But, papá!  _ I have read the bible _ ! Page by page! Nowhere does it say that I am a sin! Nowhere!” That’s when she realized her papá wasn’t looking at her. “Papá?” He still didn’t look her way. “Papá, please look at me.”

“Don’t, amor! It is too much sin!” With that, her mamá looked away as well. 

Alondra couldn't care less about that. “Papá?” He started walking towards the door. “Papá, please. Please! Look at me!” He opened the door. Alondra rushed to it. “Please don’t go! Papá, please!” He was gone. She stood there, frozen, as her mamá spoke. 

“What did you think would happen?! God punishes those like you. Even in death.” And with that she was gone too, with a loud slam of the door. 

Her hand reached for the door. The second she touched it, she fell to her knees. She couldn’t have stopped the tears even if she wanted to. The only man in the world who she had ever trusted was gone. 


	6. Chapter 6

She could’ve sworn she had left the darn thing on the couch. It was her favorite choker too! With the purple jewel and black beads. Maybe she shouldn’t have left it on the couch if it meant that much to her. Imelda started to take the cushion on the far right off. Her choker wasn’t there, but a horse figurine was. It was a nice stallion that was beautiful colors of brown and gold. It was one of It was one of Julio’s. She picked it up and set it aside. He would be happy to find that, he’d always loved horses. 

So did Ernesto. 

She banished the thought from her head. As she picked up the second cushion. It had a lot more things under it. She picked up one of Rosita’s ribbons, a screwdriver that either belonged to Felipe or Óscar, a small book she was sure belonged to VIctoria, a few pens that could’ve belonged to anyone, and there was a lot of dirt. Imelda shook her head. They lived like kings! In such a beautiful house, no less. Why couldn’t they keep it clean? Did it look like they lived in rags?! It certainly felt like it with all this dust. This wasn’t some broken down bungalo at the edge of Santa Cecilia, this was a nice home. She didn’t want it ending up like Ernesto’s home. 

She banished the name from her mind again. Why was he even there? He should have been long gone and deep down where she put every dark memory! Like when Héctor le-

But he was here now! And the only reason he never came back was because that puto murdered him. He had murdered him. 

It was hard to believe that. Very. Ernesto was his best friend. Had been. The thought that Ernesto had murdered him was such a hard slap in the face because...because...because it had been Ernesto who had been completely torn when they hadn’t made it to say bye to Héctor when his papá had shipped him off to España.

* * *

 

_ “You’ll have to play a song at my quince!” Imelda smiled down at Héctor, who had still been shorter than her at the time.  _

_ Héctor opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. “I’m not really sure if I can make it. My papá has friends coming over for dinner that night.” And if he was caught sneaking out… Héctor didn’t finish the thought. Instead, he focused on Imelda.  _

_ She grabbed his hands. “Porfavor, Héctor! Who am I supposed to dance with if you’re not there?” _

_ “He already said he can’t come,” Ernesto budded in. If she had to beg him to come, it obviously meant he didn’t want to. She didn’t have to be an annoying little puta about it. It wouldn’t kill her to take no for an answer for once.  _

_ Imelda rolled her eyes at him. “I’m talking to Héctor, Emilio, not you.” _

_ “It’s Ernesto,” he seethed.  _

_ Héctor could literally feel the tension between the two. Why didn’t they like each other? Imelda was such a nice girl, Ernesto was such a good man. And, yet, they couldn’t stand each other. Maybe, just maybe, he could do something about that. “I’ll come!” They both turned to him surprised. Then, Imelda’s expression morphed to one of delight while Ernesto’s morphed to one of anger.  _

_ “Wonderful! You can get the floor-” _

_ “We,” Héctor interrupted.  _

_ “Mande,” She looked at him, confused. “We,” she asked, a tad bit hopeful.  _

_ Héctor nodded before grabbing Ernesto’s arm and bringing him closer. “We will have the floor.” Imelda looked like she wanted to protest. Though he hated doing so, he pressed further. “I can only go if Ernesto’s with me.”  _

_ She didn’t look too happy about it at all. It took a second, but she finally gave in. “Fine! Edgar can come!”  _

_ “Ernesto!”  _

_ “And you two will have the floor after the dances,” she went on, ignoring Ernesto. “I’m trusting you, Héctor. He better not ruin my quince.” _

_ Ernesto opened his mouth to say something, but Héctor jammed his elbow into his stomach before he could do so. “No problem, Imelda. Trust me! Ernesto will behave.” _

_ “Behave?!” Héctor buried his elbow in his side. He stayed quiet.  _

_ Imelda looked at them for a second, mostly eyeing Ernesto. Her eyes softened a bit. She was quiet for a second before she spoke. “Look, I-” _

_ But Ernesto would never hear what she was going say because her brothers and Ceci were calling her. “Imelda,” her brothers yelled.  _

_ “Your mamá wants another fitting for the dress,” Ceci explained when she got closer.  _

_ “What on earth for?! I haven’t gained a pound!”  _

_ “She still wants one.” She dragged Imelda along, not even glancing at Ernesto. “Mamá’s are crazy when it comes to things like this, trust me…”  _

_ Her voice trailed off as she got further away and Imelda’s brothers were hopping around them. Rather than commenting on Ceci’s unusual behavior, Ernesto decided to complain. “Why did you do that? I don’t want to go to her stupid quince!” _

_ “Yes, you do,” Héctor saw right through him. “It’s free beer for you. You love that. And! I know you want to perform.” _

_ Ernest crossed his arms. “And so you tricked her into inviting us both.” Héctor nodded. Ernest gave him a smirk. “I never thought you’d have it in you, amigo!” He gave him a smack on the shoulder. His pride subdued when Héctor’s face scrunched in pain. “Are you sure you wanna go? You don’t have to. I can go tell Imelda to suck it up.” _

_ Héctor nodded. If it meant stopping comments like that from coming out of each other’s mouths, then this party would be one step forward in their friendship. “I wanna go! We’ll be playing at an actual event instead of just the plaza. Maybe even the owners of the Cantina will like what they hear!” Ernesto looked convinced, but he wasn’t done. “It will be one step forward towards our dream, Ernesto.” He jumped on top of the fountain they were near, being able to look down at Ernesto. “We’ll be famous!” _

_ Ernesto laughed, grabbing his arm. “Get down from there! You look like a lunatic.” He pulled him down.  _

_ Héctor continued to laugh, causing Ernesto to continue to laugh.  _

_ “Hé-é-éctor!” _

_ Héctor froze for a second before hastily shoving his guitar in Ernesto’s hands. “I’ll see you at the quince, Ernesto.” Ernesto was about to ask why not tomorrow, but Héctor beat him to it. “If I don’t sneak out for a few days, maybe he’ll go easy on me if he finds out.” He gave him a forced smile before rushing towards the sound of his name. Ernesto watched him go. He wished he could do something about that. But what could a poor son of a whore do? _

* * *

 

_ The night finally came and Héctor found himself eating a boring dinner in a boring dining room while his papá’s boring friend’s talked about boring stuff. The plan was to pretend to be tired and excuse himself for to sleep early. But as he found his own eyelids drooping and accidentally dropping his fork the entire time and his head slipping from his hand. He dropped his fork again. Finally his papá couldn’t take it anymore. From across the long table, so far that he couldn’t even see him, his papá spoke, agitated.“Héctor, go to bed.”  _

_ He excused himself quietly, tired. By the time he got to his room, he almost forgot that he was supposed to sneak out. He went to his dresser, took out the charro hat that his abuelito gave him when he was just a boy. It still fit! And put on his brightest colored suit since he didn’t have a charro suit. Finally, he grabbed a box and put it in a satchel his papá had gotten him once but had never used. Imelda was going to love the gift. Sneaking out of this house was completely easy. He had done it so many times, even his caretakers have given up trying to stop him.  _

_ It was easy to find the party when he left his house. If if he didn’t know that it was in the plaza, all he had to do was follow the music. Ernesto would have his guitar. He ran towards the plaza faster. _

* * *

 

_ Ernesto looked around before taking a swig of his drink. Héctor still wasn’t here. He was starting to worry if he would even come. What if his papá found out about the plan? What if he was caught sneaking out? What if his papá had him in his clutches right now?! That put- _

_ “How are you enjoying the party so far?”  _

_ His head snapped towards the voice. It was Imelda. Her hair was curled and parted to the right, unlike her usual split in the middle. She wore a white and light purple necklace that wrapped comfortably around her neck. And her dress was white with the finest embroidery he had ever seen. She looked stunning. He would never tell her that though. “It’s fine.”  _

_ She looked like she wanted to retort to that, but didn’t. Instead, she asked, “Is the beer ok?” _

_ He looked down at his drink. “Yeah, it’s actually great.”  _

_ She gave a slight nod to that. She opened her mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Then she said, “I like your suit.” _

_ He glanced down at himself for a split second. Héctor had gotten it for a him a while back. Had wasted his entire allowance on it just so Ernesto could go to church with him. He already had a sunday outfit, bu Héctor had told him one had to look their best for the lord. Ernesto smiled at the memory. The tonto just wanted to buy him something that wasn’t rags. “Thanks,” he said, genuine. “Héctor got it for me.” _

_ Imelda nodded again. “It looks great!”  _

_ He gave her look. What on earth was she doing? Was she complimenting him? That was suspicious. He decided to return the favor. “You look great, too, quinceñera.” _

_ She actually smiled! “Thank you! My mamá helped Ceci with it,” she explained with a spin.  _

_ Did she really just twirl? Ok, this was creeping him out now. “What are you doing?” _

_ She looked at him, confused. “What?” _

_ “What are you doing? You’re complimenting me, you’re smiling in my direction, what on earth are you doing?!” _

_ She gave him a look that said everything he was saying was stupid. “It’s called being nice, you tonto!”  _

_ “Well excuse me! I’ve never experienced it from you before!” _

_ She looked like she was about to yell, but then decided not to. “I’m sorry about that. It’s hard being nice to men like you.”  _

_ He glared at her. “Men like me?” If she mentioned anything about his mamá- _

_ “Men that go around expecting women to fawn over them like some god,” Imelda explained.  _

_ He was surprised that that was it. Most would call him a bastard or say something about his mamá. But she only hated him for his charm. He laughed. “That’s why you’re mean to me!” _

_ “Yes,” she nodded. _

_ “I can’t help that women like what they see,” he laughed.  _

_ “And what about Ceci?” _

_ “What about Ceci?” What did any of this have to do with Ceci? _

_ Imelda gave him a look before shaking her head. “Nothing.”  _

_ Oh, no! She was not pulling that on him. “No! Did she say something to you?! What was it?!” _

_ Imelda laughed at his desperate tone. “Don’t worry about it!” _

_ He looked at her like she was crazy. “I will worry about it! What did she say?! Was it bad?! Did she sound angry?!” The puta just kept on laughing!  _

_ Imelda shook her head. “Ceci never said anything, Ernesto. Héctor did!” _

_ Usually, he’d be mad at Héctor for spilling such secrets to the puta, but that didn’t really seem important at the moment. He gave her a look. “What did you say?” _

_ Imeda chuckled. “I said Héctor did.” _

_ “No, before that!” _

_ She looked at him, confused. “Ceci never said anything?” _

_ “After that!”  _

_ “What are you talking about!?!” _

_ “Y-y-you said my name!” _

_ “Ernesto,” she said, completely confused. He could tell she realized it the moment her eyes went wide. Then she playfully glared at him. “Shut up, Edwardo!” _

_ “No,” Ernesto laughed. “No! You don’t get to do that anymore! You’ve said it already! You lost!” He threw his fist up in the air with pride. “You lost!” He laughed harder when she buried her face in her hands.  _

_ “You’re such a child,” he heard her mutter.  _

_ He genuinely laughed at that. “Oh! I’m the child?! Says the mujer who pretends not to know  my name!” _

_ “I don’t,” she tried to play off.  _

_ “No! No, no, no! I heard you say it! Loud and clear! You know it!” _

_ She rolled her eyes. In defeat, he thought. “Fine, I know it! Don’t expect me to use it!” _

_ Ernesto could only shake his head at that. Not so bad now, but still stubborn. “This party is great, by the way. I love it!” _

_ Imelda looked skeptical. “I’m sure you’ve been to better parties.”  _

_ Ernesto shook his head. “I don’t get invited to many parties.” _

_ She looked taken back by that. “Why not?” _

_ He gave her a slight smirk. “They’re afraid I’ll sweep up all the women!” _

_ Imelda rolled her eyes. “Of course! Riding around with your dashing smile, looking all macho upon your stallion!” _

_ “Leave Dante out of this,” he laughed.  _

_ “Dante?”  _

_ “That’s my horse’s name,” he explained. “He’s a very good horse. Loves me unconditionally.” _

_ “A pet should,” Imelda nodded.  _

_ “He is not a pet! He’s a friend,” he corrected.  _

_ Imelda only chuckled.  _

_ “I made it, I made it!!” _

_ They both turned to see Héctor in a yellow suit and a black and gold hat. Ernesto sighed in relief. He had made it.  _

_ “Héctor,” Imelda greeted, loudly, and she hugged his head to her chest.  _

_ Ernesto decided to ignore the blush that came upon Héctor’s face and greeted him as well. When they were done with their hug, he took off his hat and ruffled his hair. “I knew you would make it!” Nevermind that he had been worrying earlier.  _

_ Héctor pushed his hand away and snatched his hat back. “I told you I would!” He smiled up at them. They seemed to be ok. Were they getting along?  _

_ “What on earth are you wearing though?” _

_ He instantly became offended. He looked down at his outfit. “What’s wrong with it?”  _

_ “You look like a plátono,” Ernesto laughed.  _

_ “A bruised one,” Imelda agreed.  _

_ “Why didn’t you just wear your black one with gold cuffs? It would’ve matched way better.” _

_ Héctor looked at them both, annoyed. “Just give me my guitar!”  _

_ Ernesto gave it to him with a laugh. “Hey, at least it drags attention away from the ears, amigo.” _

_ Imelda let out a snort. “Son orejas de elefantes!”  _

_ He looked at the two, acting a bit too chummy for his taste at the moment. “Aren’t you two supposed to hate each other.” That immediately got their attention and he regretted saying it the second they both shuffled away from each other. He could fix this! “Wh-when did you say we were supposed to play?” _

_ “After the dances,” she reminded. “They’re going to start in a bit.”  _

_ Héctor smiled. “That’s great! Here!” He put his guitar behind him as he brought his satchel forward. He brought out the box and handed it to her. “These are for you.”  _

_ Imelda grabbed the box, skeptically. “I’m not really supposed to open my presents yet.” _

_ “Trust me, you’ll love them.”  _

_ “We were supposed to bring gifts,” Ernesto asked, confused.  _

_ Imelda rolled her eyes while Héctor chuckled. “You didn’t have to, Enrique,” Imelda teased before lifting the box. It was just a pair of huaraches. “Um, you bought me shoes for my birthday?” _

_ Héctor nodded. “They’re purple! Your favorite color!” _

_ Imelda felt like laughing. “You bought me shoes for my fifteenth birthday!”  _

_ Héctor nodded, confused. “I did.” He smiled again anyway. “What do you think?” _

_ Imelda let out a laugh. “Creo que piensas con sus pies!”  _

_ He wanted to be annoyed, but the sound of both Imelda’s and Ernesto’s laughter softened his heart. It was nice that they were getting along.  _

_ Her papá started calling for everyone’s attention now. The two amigos watched as Imelda ran over to her papá, instantly bringing him into a hug. Now they just had to wait.  _

_ El baile de quinceañera y su papá came and Imelda couldn’t be happier. She slipped out of her shoes and let her papá put her heels on her. He turned to the hired mariachi band with a nod of his head and they started dancing. The music was loud and the people were watching with awe, swaying to the music. Imelda looked around, happy to see that everyone was enjoying it. But her papá, he never turned away from her. “Mija, there’s something I have to tell you.” _

_ She looked back to him, confused. Why was he whispering? “What is it, papá?” _

_ He gave her a sad smile. “I’m not your papá.”  _

_ Imelda didn’t miss a step in the dance. To be honest, she knew this. Her mamá had told her so, long before today, about how she got pregnant by some musical bum and he left her. For two years she had been a ridiculed woman, only loved by the woman in her family whose husbands had left them as well. Then she met him, the man who she called papá now. He took her mamá in, and her as well, and raised her as if she were his own. She could feel a lump in her throat. Was he about to change his mind about everything? “I know,” she said, quietly, not being able to look him in the eye. “Mamá told me a long time ago.”  _

_ “I thought she might,” he laughed. “She’s not good at keeping chisme to herself.” Imelda gave a slight nod, still not looking at him. He used a free hand to get her to look at him. “I didn’t tell you that to hurt you, mija. I just want you to know that I don’t care if you’re not mine by blood. You’re my child because I love you as such. God didn’t just sent me your mamá, he sent me you too.” Imelda could feel the tears rolling down her cheeks. As first they had been for sadness, thinking he was going to reject her in the middle of their dance. Now, she cried tears of joy. All this time, even though he would hug her and kiss her forehead and bought her everything she asked for, she still had doubts. What if he didn’t love her because she wasn’t his real daughter? But here he was, proving to her that none of that mattered. She let out a sob. “I watched you grow into the beautiful woman you are now, amor. I want you to remember that, ok?” She nodded, not being able to speak. “I want you to remember that-,” his sentence was interrupted by a sob that wasn’t her own. She finally dared to look at him and found that he was crying to. “I want you to remember that it was me who saw your first steps, it was me who was there for every birthday, it was me who taught you how to read, it was me that was there for you all your life. When it comes down to it, if you ever feel a bit of doubt, remember what I am telling you. I am your papá.” Did he know? Did he know she had doubts? He brought her into a hug. “Never forget that.” They both cried harder as they held onto each other, finishing the dance.  _

_ Imelda could hear the crowd full of adoring woman and snickering men, all at the assumption that a papá was sad that his little girl was a woman now. The music finished, but they still held onto each other, crying. It was her mamá that had to intercept it. “You two can let go of her, amor,” her mamá laughed. “It’s not like a husband is going to take her away the second you let go.”  _

_ “One might,” he joked before letting her go. “Go tell your little amigo the crowd’s all his.”  _

_ Imelda had almost forgotten that that was the plan.  _

_ She smiled at her papá, her papá, before rushing to Héctor. He looked up at her with concern when she made it to them. “Are you ok?” _

_ Imelda nodded with a laugh. “Si, si! I couldn’t be better!”  _

_ “You look like you’ve been crying,” Ernesto said with no real malice. _

_ Imelda rolled her eyes with a small smile while she wiped her tears. “Are you two ready?” They both held up their guitars with a nod. “Then what are you waiting for? You have a crowd to please!” She grabbed both of their arms and dragged them into the middle of the plaza. “What song do you guys want to sing?”  _

_ Ernesto and Héctor looked at each other with a smile. “El Mundo Es Mi Familia!” _

_ Imelda looked at them, confused. “I’ve never heard that song before.”  _

_ “It’s our own song,” Héctor explained. “We wrote it!” _

_ “Héctor wrote it,” Ernesto corrected. “I barely contributed.”  _

_ “We wrote it,” Héctor repeated.  _

_ Imelda could tell that it was Héctor who truly wrote it, though Ernesto may have sparked the inspiration. She smiled. “Alright, alright!” She turned to the crowd. “How is everyone tonight!?” She got many answers of glee. “My friends, Héctor Garcia and Ernesto-” she looked to him with a questioning look. He had never said his full name.  _

_ “De la Cruz,” he whispered, causing Héctor to look at him like this was news to him.  _

_ Imelda figured that it wasn’t really his last name, but it had a Cross in it, so she obliged. “And Ernesto De La Cruz!”  _

_ Not many people cheered for a reason Imelda didn’t understand. Nonetheless, she watched them play.  _

_ Héctor turned to Ernesto, expectantly. “Nope,” he said to him. “You’re doing the grito this time.” _

_ “What,” he yelled-whispered. “I can’t do the grito! I sound like a dying cat!”  _

_ “That’s too bad, amigo. You have to learn to do one. Every musico does.” He shoved him a bit forward before preparing his own guitar.  _

_ Héctor was freaking out. He couldn’t do a grito! Although Ernesto had told him to practice at home, that was just something he couldn’t do. His papá might hear him. And he could never practice in the plaza, in fear of people staring. He froze for a second. Then he heard Ernesto’s voice.  _

_ “Just think about music, Héctor. How happy it makes you! Think back to a happy time, filled with music. And love! Forget everyone around you, Héctor. Just pretend you’re singing to someone you love.”  _

_ And he did. As he closed his eyes, all he saw was his mamá, sitting in her favorite chair, a smile on her face, waiting for him to sing.  _

Aaaaaaaaaay-ay-ay!

_ He belted out the loudest, most perfect grito he had ever heard from himself causing the crowd to cheer just a bit. Then they both started to play.  _

Señoras y señores, buenas tardes, buenas noches

Buenas tardes, buenas noches, señoritas y señores

_ The crowd started to cheer. They were actually liking it! As much as he loved playing in the plaza, waiting for any passerby to just even look their way when they played, playing in front of an expecting crowd was a lot more fun. Especially if they cheered! For a second Ernesto could forget who he was and just play.  _

Esta noche estar aquí es mi pasión, qué alegría

Pues la música es mi lengua y el mundo es mi familia

_ Héctor still hadn’t opened his eyes. When the crowd cheered, all he could hear was his mamá’s praise. When the crowd started clapping, all he could hear was his mamá’s applause. For a moment, Héctor could forget she was gone and just play as she listened.  _

Pues la música es mi lengua y el mundo es mi familia

Pues la música es mi lengua y el mundo es mi familia

Pues la música es mi lengua-

_ “Hé-é-é-é-éctor!” _

_ His eyes snapped open and his face went pale. He stopped playing in an instant as a man who was just shy of muscular headed towards him. His green eyes were full of...anger. Héctor knew those eyes all too well.  _

_ Imelda watched, just like everyone around her, as a man she had never seen before walked up to Héctor. “Que estas haciendo aquí!” His voice was booming and sent a shiver down her spine. She could see that the voice did much more to Héctor. “I told you to go to bed! How does that translate to you can come to a pinche fiesta!” She watched as Héctor gaped like a fish, trying to find words to say, but he couldn’t. The man finally lowered his eyes for a bit. “I see that there is only one way for you to take me seriously.” He held out his hand. “Give me the guitar.” She watched as Héctor took a step back, hugging the guitar to him, and shaking his head very slowly. The man held his hand out further. “Give me the guitar.” His voice was calm, not in anyway demanding, and, yet, she could see Héctor quivering in fear. She wasn’t sure how long they both stood there, a minute, maybe two. But, slowly, Héctor started moving the guitar towards him.  _

_ “No,” she yelled, finally understanding what the man was intending to do.  _

_ But it was too late. The second the man saw that Héctor was obeying him, he took it upon himself to snatch the guitar...and smash it to pieces right in front of him. She could see that he had been crying long before he had given him the guitar. What kind of monster- _

_ “You puto!”  _

_ She watched, just as surprised as everyone around her, as Ernesto ran up to the man, punching him squarely in the jaw. The hit was so hard the man fell to the floor. He got up and charged at Ernesto. That’s when Héctor finally decided to move. She watched as he positioned himself right in front of Ernesto, blocking the man. “Papá, please! Please don’t hurt him!” The man is his papá, Imelda thought. How could such a sweet thing be raised by such a monster?  _

_ His papá stared at him for few seconds. He stood up straight. “Héctor, go home.” Héctor shook his head, his arms still shielding Ernesto. “Chingada madre, I’m not gonna hurt him, Héctor! Go home!”  _

_ Héctor looked back at Ernesto and then back to his papá. “Y-you promise?” _

_ “Go home, Héctor.”  _

_ Héctor looked at Ernesto again. ‘I’m sorry,’ he mouthed before slowly lowering his arms and leaving his side.  _

_ His papá waited until he was gone before turning back to Ernesto. “If I ever find you near my son again,  _ bastardo _ ,” he spat. “I will kill you.”  _

_ And suddenly it all made sense about Ernesto. He was a bastard. That’s why he wasn’t invited to many parties, that’s why no one had cheered when it was time for them to sing. No one associated themselves with someone like him. ‘A man like me?’ He had looked so angry when she had said that. And then looked relieved when she told him the real reason she found him annoying. It was hard for others to be nice to a man like him because he was a bastard. Churches forbade association with men like him. And though that was a shocking discovery, she didn’t really have much time to think about it because Héctor’s papá was already leaving and Ernesto looked like he was going to charge again.  _

_ Before he could even finish his first step forward, Ceci was in front of him. “Ernesto,” she said, soothly. “I think you should go home.”  _

_ He looked at her, pure rage in his face. “Did you not see what he just did?!” _

_ “Ernesto, I know-” _

_ “You know nothing! None of these idiots do!” He looked around, glaring at everyone. He stopped to look at her. “Especially you!” He pointed directly at her. “I told you! He didn’t want to come to your pinche quince!” _

_ She was taken back by that. She had thought they had become even a sliver of friends. She had guessed she was wrong. Before she could even think of something to say, Ceci was blocking her view to him.  _

_ “Ernesto, It’s Jerardo you’re mad at, not her!” _

_ “I am angry with everyone here!” He yelled at the top of his lungs. “Cursing me! Damning me! It’s not me who has a spot waiting for him in hell! It’s that man! That demon!”  _

_ “Ernesto, please calm down,” Ceci begged. And he did. At least it looked like he did. Imelda could still see that he was fuming. “I’ll walk you home,” she told him gently. And he let her.  _

_ The second he was out of sight, every single guest started talking. She was trampled by her padres, asking her if she was alright. After something like that, she wasn’t so sure. _

* * *

 

_ She didn’t see Héctor for a whole week. She would go to the plaza, hoping to see him there, but she didn’t. Ernesto wasn’t even there. She hated the looks of pity sent her way whenever she stood for a few seconds, staring at the fountain he would usually sit at. Finally, she asked Ceci if she had seen either of them. She had told her that Héctor was trapped inside his house while Ernesto chose to stay in his.  _

_ The thought of what could be happening to Héctor kept her up at night. What did Ernesto mean when he said that she, especially, didn’t know? Did he know something like this would happen? Did he know what happened between Héctor and his papá behind closed doors? How come Héctor never talked to her about it? Did he not trust her? She sat up in her bed and looked out the window. It was already dawn. She sighed. Another sleepless night. She couldn’t keep doing this, staying up all night and thinking about him. She was going to march right up to that stupid house on the hill and demand to see Héctor. She got up with raging confidence and put on one of her simple dresses over her nightgown and then slipped on her purple huaraches, the ones he had gotten her. She jumped with a slight scream when she heard a thud to at her balcony doors. She rushed to them. Could it be- _

_ Ceci and Ernesto were on a beautiful, brown stallion, Dante, she presumed, staring up at her. Though Ernesto looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here, Ceci’s expression was frantic. “Imelda! You have to hurry and get to the train station!”  _

_ She looked at them, confused. “Why?” _

_ “Héctor’s leaving!”  _

_ She rushed out of her room in a second. As she was running down the hall, she rushed passed her padres, who had probably come out of their room due to her loud footsteps. But she had no time to answer their questions. She rushed outside, jumped onto the first horse she could, and burst through the hacienda doors, passing Ceci and Ernesto, who had probably been waiting for her.  _

_ She had rushed to the station as fast as she could, urging the horse to go faster, faster, faster! She heard the horn of a train go off. As she neared the station, she could see the only train there was taking off. She stopped the horse. They had been too late. She had been too late.  _

_ “No, no, no,” she slowly got off the horse as she heard Ernesto’s cries. She turned to see that Ernesto had gotten off his own horse and ran a few feet forward, as if it made a difference. “No!” He kicked the grass, causing a chunk of it to fly and reveal the mud underneath. “He can’t be gone!” He started punching the floor until he tired himself out. Then he buried his face in his hands. “He can’t be gone,” she heard him say quietly.  _

_ Her feet moved over to him by themselves. A part of her wanted to leave him alone, like Ceci was doing, but another had to console someone who had just lost a friend. “Ernesto,” she said, putting her hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorr-” _

_ “This is your fault,” he yelled, shoving her hand off him. He stood up and turned to her, a glare filled so much hatred directed at her. “If we didn’t have to stop and wait for you, we would have made it! I would have made it!”  _

_ “Ernesto,” Ceci tried to scold. “This is not her-” _

_ He ignored her and went on. “I told you he didn’t want to come to your pinche quince! But you didn’t listen! You gave him your pinche puta eyes and he couldn’t resist!” _

_ “I am not a puta,” she yelled back at him. She swallowed the next retort. It would not be a good idea to bring his mamá into this.  _

_ “When you’re around he only thinks with his pants! You’re a skirt! You know that right?! You’re just a pinche perra! He’ll get over you soon! And when he does he’ll come back to me! Because it was me that was always there for him! I’m his best friend! Not you!”  _

_ She was not a perra. She had thought for a second that maybe she could preserve what they had shared at her quince and she had thought wrong. No one, no one, talked to her like that. “You sound more like a  _ wife _ ,” she seethed the quip.  _

_ “Is that what you expect from him?! To be his wife?!” Ernesto laughed. “That’s not gonna happen! Not as long as I’m around!” _

_ “Why?! You want him all to yourself?!” She knew exactly what she was implying when she said that. The best way to make a man angry was to twist his words around.  _

_ “Could you two just-”  _

_ Ceci tried to stop the fighting, but it was no use. “He’s going to forget about you,” he seethed. “And then I’ll be the one laughing!”  _

_ Imelda let out a dry laugh. “Héctor’s not one of your little Besitos,  _ Emilia _! He is a man!”  _

_ “It’s Ernesto, you pinche-” _

_ Imelda had wished he would’ve tried something before Ceci stopped him in his tracks. She would have loved to see where her papá’s training had gotten her. “Ernesto,” she said to him. “I think you should go home.”  _

_ He took a step away from her. “Yeah,” he agreed, anger still in his voice. It was a different kind of anger, though. One Imelda knew wasn’t directed at her, but at Ceci. “I think I’ll do that.” He turned away from her and stomped towards his horse. When he sat upon Dante, he turned to look at Imelda again. “He’ll forget all about you.”  _

_ Before he could even flap his reins, Imelda spoke. “He’ll love me more than he’ll ever love you.” She’s not sure if it was the words that made him pause or the way she had said it so calmly yet so angry. Either way he stayed for a few seconds, as if the words had frozen him in place, before finally flapping his reins and trotting away. _

* * *

 

Imelda was glad to let the memory fade as she heard a loud noise. She turned her head and almost screamed. It was Rosita’s alebrije. The creature was something akin to an aquatic salamander except that it was bright pink and had yellow flowers all over it. Not to mention it’s giant, monarch butterfly wings. The thing was only the size of a chihuahua. And it stood on top of the TV stand chewing on something black. “Pinche fregona!” She marched up to it and snatched her choker from its mouth. Why couldn’t her family’s alebrijes be sweet and obedient like hers? She grabbed a napkin and wiped off the slobber and ignored Chiquita as she flew away. When she was done she set the handkerchief next to the horse figurine. 

Ernesto had a horse. 

Why was she still thinking about him?! He should be gone! Héctor was here now, no thanks to him. She had won! Not that it was a game. Héctor’s feelings were not a game to her. She really did love him. But Ernesto was such a puto, it made her strive even harder for his affection. It had been the happiest day of her life when he proposed to her. Ernesto was there too, a blank look on his face to mask his anger, she knew. He had had to start doing that after Ceci had left, masking his anger. It had gotten him into too much trouble since Ceci wasn’t around to stop it. And that was probably why the puto was in her mind. Héctor had told her he was going to talk to Ceci. And if there was anyone in the world that Ernesto had loved, it had been Ceci. Something she didn’t realize until it was too late and she was gone. But, then again, she was just young and in love as well, what help could she had offered Ernesto? _None_. Because he didn’t want it. 

She threw the horse figurine in the trash. 


	7. Chapter 7

He used his suspender to launch his arm up to the window, just how he had done for the past fifty years. When he had found that Ceci was dead, he had tried his best to talk to her. Finally, after a huge shenanagin that caused a bone to break, she was there with duct tape and an annoyed sigh. Just as she was now, opening the window with an annoyed expression. “What do you want, Héctor?!”

She had no idea why she was always so annoyed with seeing him. He had never personally done anything to her. Except for the time with the paint...and the trolley...and all those disguises. Ok, so maybe she had a right to be annoyed with him, but that didn’t excuse how plain and clear it was that she was doing her best to ignore him. “I came here to talk,” he got right to the point. “You’re not busy, are you?”

“I’m always busy,” she yelled before letting the ladder down. “Don’t forget to ring it back up!” She was out of his sight in a second. He picked up his guitar from the floor. As he climbed up and looked through the window, he found that she wasn’t lying. She really was busy. It was a new dress, one he had never seen, but it certainly wasn’t one Ceci had come up with. Her designs were always bold colors and elegant. This dress had many colors and looked like it was for fun. He stepped through the window. “Don’t forget to ring it back up,” she seethed. He stepped back out the window to do so. “You know you don’t have to keep bugging me with the window anymore, right? Frida will let you in through the front.”

Héctor shrugged. “I like doing it this way. I get to see an old friend.” She didn’t reply to that. “So what’s the dress for?”

“Frida’s coming up with another show for the Sunrise Spectacular.”

Héctor felt very...uneasy about that. “I thought-”

“Just because there’s no Ernesto doesn’t mean there’s no Sunrise Spectacular,” she interrupted. Héctor sat on the green couch that was in here. “Frida’s just so happy that he’s gone,” she explained, though she sounded like she wasn’t. “She gets to do it all by herself. And she wants you to take his place.”

“What?!” That caught him off guard. Though he had always felt intimidated by the woman, she had assured him, after Ernesto’s fall, that she had always liked him. That he always had this spirit inside him that was waiting to be let out. And he was always kind, unlike Gustavo. But, still, to ask him to replace Ernesto in the Sunrise Spectacular?

“She says it’ll be nice to have a real musico on the stage.”

Ernesto was a real musico, he thought. But it was something he couldn’t say. He shook his head. “I don’t want to do that.” He started to strum a bit on his guitar.

She stopped poking at the dress for a split second. It was small, but Héctor noticed it. “Why not? Wasn’t it your dream to play for the world? The dead world’s not that much of a difference.”

“That was Ernesto’s dream,” he explained.

Ceci let out a bitter laugh. “No it wasn’t. It was both of yours. You would both go on and on about how you would be famous.”

And she was right. It had been his dream. But that was before he met Imelda. “Things changed.”

“I know,” was all she said on the matter before changing the subject. “...can you pass me the thread that’s next to you.”

He looked to the right of him and found that there was some thread. How did women do that? He set his guitar down and brought it to Ceci. She took it, wordlessly. He went back to go sit on the couch. He opened his mouth...and then closed it. How was he supposed to start this? Well, it was her fault, really. She brought up Ernesto first. He opened his mouth again. “Have you seen him lately?”

She didn’t stop what she was doing. “Who,” she asked, confused.

“E-Ernesto?”

She pulled too hard and broke the thread. Héctor wondered if this was a good idea. She started mumbling about thread being stupid as she cut out some more. “I haven’t seen him.” Ceci was a terrible liar. The only person that believed her lies were her oblivious Papá. Héctor, though, was a great one and so he could spot one from a mile away. Ceci wasn’t lying when she had said that. But she wasn’t fully telling the truth.

“Have you heard anything about him?”

“Just the usual joke here and there.” She started to re-sew the part she had ruined. “Why?”

“Just asking.” A year with his family had really soured his lying game, he needed practice. He started strumming his guitar.

“Have you seen him?”

“Not since Dia De Muertos,” he answered. And that’s what was bugging him. He had expected someone to catch him by now. Someone to turn him in. Ernesto had always been a noticeable guy.

Ceci sighed. “Is this what you came to talk about? Cause if it is, I’d rather not.”

“Please,” he pleaded. “I can’t talk about it with Imelda, she’s always hated him. I need to to talk with someone who actually knew him like I did.”

“Well they’re gonna be pretty hard to find, aren’t they?”

“Ceci, please.”

She turned to him, looking tired. She looked old even though she was just a skeleton. He had no clue what she saw in his eyes, but it made her talk. She turned away from him. “It’s not everyday you find out the man you once loved killed the man you once saw as a brother.” She turned back to the dress. “I saw him a few times in life, I’m not sure if he ever saw me. I’ve seen him here too, we would catch eyes every now and then. He tried to approach me once but Frida had stopped him, saying that he wasn’t going to take her best designer.” She purposely ripped the thread she had, tying it and finishing the piece. “But you don’t want to hear about any of that.” She sounded disappointed. “What are you thinking?”

“Actually, I’d like you to keep talking. I honestly don’t know what I’m thinking.” Every time Ernesto came to his mind, he’d be happy, he’d be sad. He’d be calm, he’d be angry. He’d be confused, he’d be numb. When it came to Ernesto, he didn’t know what to think. He had been his best friend. Why would he do such a thing? Only Ernesto had the answer. But he wasn’t here.

“Whatta you wanna know?”

Héctor shrugged, looking back at his past. He was trying to find a place to start, a place where Ernesto started becoming a stranger. “What...what happened to Ernesto while I was in España?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” she said, nonchalantly. “He went completely rogue. Without you, he’d just stay home all day. Until he got a job at the cantina. Then he’d spend most of his day there. I don’t know much after I had to leave.”

Héctor nodded. “You did. Imelda told me your papá got caught in a raid.”

“Si, he did. My mamá and I went to Mexico City to live with her uncle after that.” She became silent as she turned way from him and inspected the dress.

He heard her whisper something. “Mande?”

“He asked me to marry him,” she said, louder. “So that I could stay.”

“And you said no.” He already knew the answer. If she had said yes, they wouldn’t be here. “Why?”

“He was going to cheat on me at some point. What was the use?”

A lie. Héctor shook his head. “That never bothered you. It didn’t matter what woman he bedded, he’d always come crawling back to you. What was the real reason you said no?”

“That’s it,” she tried. But he could hear the edge in her voice. She was going to start crying.

“Why, Ceci?”

“No, Héctor!”

“Why?!”

“Because he didn’t love me!”

That was not the answer he was expecting. “What are you talking about. He loved you!”

“No he didn’t, Héctor. He really didn’t. He loved you. He loved music. He loved your dreams. That man could never be married to me when he was already married to music. To you.”

“But he would’ve-”

“Do you not understand what I am saying?! He didn’t love me! He loved what you two had more than he could ever love me! Your future together was more important! I couldn’t take that away from him! He would have left sooner or later! That’s why I said no!”

“But he would’ve came-”

“No Héctor! He wouldn’t have!” She sighed. “He would’ve stayed with you. And if you don’t understand what I’m saying, then I think it’s best you just go.”

“But, I want to understand what your say-”

“I thought I heard your voice!” They both snapped their heads toward the door to find an overjoyed Frida. Her hair wasn’t up like how Héctor was used to seeing, with the flowers and braids, but it was down. And she wore a dress less extravagant than what she wore in public, but that trademark uni-brow was always recognizable. “Tito, I have a question to ask you,” she told him, beckoning him towards her.

Tito was the nickname she had called him the second she found out his name. He slid his guitar behind him as he followed her out the room. He turned to say bye to Ceci, but she had already closed the door. He turned back to follow Frida.

“So, I was thinking, for the Sunrise Spectacular,” she started off as she made it to a painting. She never finished, though, for she started studying the painting. It was a painting of her skeleton self wearing something casual hugging another skeleton in a suit that seemed to be loving the affection. “Diego,” she yelled across the room for some Diego. Was it Diego Rivera? Wasn’t that her husband? “Come look at my painting!”

“Such plastic beauty,” a voice called back, sounding distracted. Héctor thought he might be working on his own painting.

“You haven’t even seen it,” she yelled back with mock anger. She rolled her eyes, fondly, before looking back at the painting. “Ah, to be married to an artist! Takes a lot out of you. We divorced once, you know?”

“You did?!” That was news to him. Everyone made it seem like they were inseparable. “What happened?”

“We got remarried a year later. Couldn’t stand to be apart. Can you imagine being away from the one you love for even a minute!? Ugh, it was heart wrenching.”

Héctor forced a smile and nodded. “I bet it was.”

She turned to him with a huge smile. “Speaking of hearts! Do you know what would make everyone’s hearts swell with joy? If the real artist of the songs we’ve loved for decades sang them during the Sunrise Spectacular!” She clasped her hands together in glee. “What do you think?!”

He gaped like a fish. He didn’t want to do it, but Frida seemed like a woman who wouldn’t take no for an answer. He gave her his best smile. “I have to think about it. It’ll be the first Dia De Muertos I’ll be with my family. I’ll have to see if I have time.”

“Well, the show is just an hour before sunrise. You’ll be back here by then, I’m sure.”

Be back here. He wanted to tell her that even though he would still be with his family, it didn’t mean he could cross the bridge. Miguel had dropped his photo. He kept his smile anyway. “I’ll see. I just have to talk to my wife about it!”

“Make sure you do. I want an answer soon!” She turned back to the painting and Héctor took this as his chance to leave.

As he walked out, he heard the couples voices.

“I love it!”

“Could you give me some actual criticism for once!”

He chuckled before walking out.

The walk home was uneventful. But when he walked into the Rivera hacienda and saw Imelda crying, the phone in her hand, he knew the day was just getting started.

* * *

 

“There were only three instances where the revolution got tangled with Santa Cecilia,” the maestra explained. Miguel wondered how it got to this. This was math class! He was happy to welcome the distraction though. He didn’t want to learn about a circumference of a circle. Even so, he drowned out the maestra to try and do it on his own. He had to get this. “There were only thirty casualties with the first two. The third one, everyone miraculously survived. My abuela says that her abuelo was just a child during the third one. I can’t even imagine how scary it was. He and his friends were hiding out in a church and could hear all the guns and yelling. They all started to cry. But then he heard a song.” Miguel’s head snapped up. A song? Children crying? A church? There was no possible way! “The song was sung by a man with such a soothing voice they all stopped crying and surrounded him. He played until the sun was high in the sky and the soldiers were gone.”

“What song was it,” Miguel asked, excitedly.

“I don’t remember the exact words. Neither did my abuela. But she did remember the tune.” And the maestra started humming and Miguel was laughing.

“That’s my papá Héctor’s song!”

“No it’s not,” Jorge simmered.

“It is,” Miguel assured, ignoring the boy’s tone. He turned to all the other kids, who were listening to him now. “My Mamá Coco told me the story a few weeks ago. He played the song to get my tíos to stop crying. She told me it was the exact moment my Mamá Imelda fell in love with him.”

“Aw,” went all the girls.

“The song was called Juanita,” he went on. “It’s just about an ugly man in love.” Everyone giggled.

“Well, maybe you can sing it sometime, Miguel,” the maestra said. “You are a musician, aren’t you? Like your Papá Héctor!”

Miguel nodded. “I love music!”

“Do you have your own songs?”

Miguel turned to Jorge. For once, he actually looked like he was interested in what he was saying. Jorge was actually pretty handsome when he wasn’t scowling. He felt a weird feeling in his stomach. Miguel turned away from him, his face heating up a bit. “Well, no. Not yet.”

The scowl was back. “Then how can you call yourself a musician?”

Miguel glared at him, the feeling in his stomach gone and replaced with anger. He opened his mouth to retort, but then closed it, realizing he had nothing to say to that. Jorge was right, he didn’t have his own songs. How could he be a musician without his own songs?

Maestra Fernandez, sensing the tension, changed the subject. “Ok! That’s enough talk today!” She clasped her hands together, as if the next thing she was going to say would be fun. “Let’s get back to work.”

The entire class groaned.

It was finally the last ten minutes of school and their last teacher had let them have their free time. Xitlali had switched spots with the person next to him, not Jorge, unfortunately. They talked about nothing in particular until Xitlali mentioned her favorite show she had found online with had a great opening song. “I really love it! I have to have on subtitles since my english isn’t good, but I understand it a bit. It’s just about a these three friends and the girl finds out her older sister is actually her mamá.”

“How is that possible,” Miguel asked just as Jorge did.

Miguel and Xitlali took a glance at him, wondering why he was talking to them. Xitlali didn’t seem to mind, though, for she continued. “It turns out the mamá had left her to her own mamá and pretended to be her sister the whole time. What really got me into the show was the song. I have a few friends online from the Estados Unidos and they said it was a great show. So I watched it and I loved the song. I think the song influenced me. The show only started getting interesting after the song played.”

“Music’s not that influencing,” jorge retorted.

Miguel was on him in a second. “Yes it is.”

“No it’s not.”

“Yes it is!”

“No it’s not!”

“You’re telling me you’ve never heard a song so beautiful that it touched your soul!”

“Miguel, calm down,” Xitlali scolded. “Literally no one thinks about music that way but you.”

“Your chinita friend is right,” he said. “I couldn’t care less.”

“You’ve never felt a rhythm that’s just vibrating inside you, wanting to be set free?!” Miguel went on. He didn’t care that it was _Jorge_. He was going to change his mind.

“Do _you_ even feel that?”

“Yes! The rhythm goes like this!” And he started humming.

Jorge actually looked impressed. “That’s the rhythm inside you?”

“Yes,” Miguel answered, annoyed.

“Why don’t you do something with it?”

“What?” Miguel was confused now.

“Why don’t you do something with it,” Jorge repeated. “You said you don’t have your own song. Make that into a song. I’m no musician, but that seems like common sense.” Miguel glanced at Xitlali, who looked just as surprised as him. Di-did Jorge just help him? The bell rang and Jorge stood up and gave them a wave. “See you guys tomorrow.”

The absentmindedly waved back at him as he left. “I can’t believe Jorge actually gave some good advice,” Xitlali thought aloud. “And to you.”

“I’m surprised too. That was weird.” But it also made his stomach all warm. He smiled at Xitlali. “I think I’m gonna write a song when I get home.” He didn’t wait for Xitlali as he grabbed his stuff and ran home.

He was halfway there when he ran into someone. “I am so sorry,” he yelled as he scrambled up. He held out a hand for the boy. The boy had pitch black hair, like his own, and wore a black suit, which Miguel thought was pretty stupid considering how hot it was today. Another thing he noticed was that the boy had a long nose. Not too long, it was still a bit pudgy, but one could tell it would grow as he did. And he had big, brown eyes with the curliest eyelashes he had ever seen. Miguel felt like he had seen him somewhere before.

The boy smacked his hand away as he got up himself. “Watch where you’re going next time!” The boy walked right passed him. Was Miguel just destined to meet the rudest boys in Mexico? He rolled his eyes, not really caring for the boy anymore, and started his way home again.

When he got there, he made sure to dodge his family and go grab his guitar. He started strumming on the cords, finding the right ones to match the melody inside his head. It took him a few minutes to actually get it down and, in the end, who could only go on for thirty seconds without messing it up. He would have to practice it more if he wanted it to sound great.

“Miguel, what are you doing?”

He looked up to find his mamá, her arms crossed. He smiled nervously at her. “Hola, mamá.”

“What did I say about the guitar before homework?”

“I know, I know,” he said, lowering it just a bit. “But, there’s a song in my head, mamá! I just had to be able to play it!”

His mamá sighed, leaning against the door frame. “What song it it?”

“My own,” he said, excitedly. “It doesn’t have words yet, but I have the music down a bit. Wanna hear?” His mamá gestured for him to do so and he played it. He cringed as he messed up. “I don’t have it down completely, but practice makes perfect!” He smiled up at her.

“You can practice after homework,” she said.

His smile fell. “Can I at least show Mamá Coco?” He looked up at her.

His mamá groaned. “You really should be doing your homework!” His eyes went wider. She groaned again. “You have five minutes. Five minutes! Then you come to shop and start your homework.”

“Gracias, mamá!” He ran and gave her a hug before rushing to Mamá Coco’s room. She sat in her chair, as usual, looking off into space, like always, and her hair was in her favorite trenzas, just like everyday. She looked great! He sat down on the floor and started to play Recuérdame. He had expected to hear her singing along with his, but when he opened his eyes, he saw that she hadn’t even stirred. He looked at the guitar, confused. That should’ve woken her up. He played it again, looking at her this time. She still hadn’t stirred. “Mamá Coco?” He stood up and tried shaking her shoulder. “Mamá Coco?” She didn’t even blink. “Mamá Coco, can you hear me? I was playing your song. The one your papá sang you. Papá?” She didn’t move. His hand went to hers out of instinct before he quickly pulled away. Her hand was ice cold. He looked at his mamá Coco more closely. She wasn’t moving. At all. And her skin seemed paler. “Mamá...Coco?” She didn’t move. “Mamá Coco? Mamá Coco?! _Mamá Coco?!_ ” He yelled her name more frantically the longer she didn’t move. His abuelita came in soon after.

“What are you doing to that poor woman,” she yelled, walking in. She stopped the rant at the tip of her tongue when she saw the tears in his eyes and the panic on his face.

“Abuelita! Mamá Coco isn’t moving!”

“Quitate, Mijo,” she ordered, waving him away. She patted her mamá’s hand, like she usually did after Miguel had bugged her, but this time was different. Her mamá’s hands were cold. She took a step back, feeling a lump in her throat. “Mijo,” she said to Miguel. “Ven, ven.” She beckoned him forwards and followed, leaving the guitar.

“Is Mamá Coco gonna be alright,” he asked as she ushered him out of the room.

“Don’t worry, Mijo,” she tried to soothe him, but he could see the tears in her eyes. “Everything’s gonna be fine.”

“But will Mamá Coco be alright?” She didn’t answer him. “Abuelita?” They entered the shop. “Abuelita? Will Mamá Coco be alright?” Her silence was scaring him.

“What’s going on?” He turned to see his Mamá looking at them confused.

“I have to make a phone call,” his abuelita said, quietly, before slightly shoving him towards his mamá. He watched as she left the room something akin to a robot.

“Miguel, what happened?”

He turned to his papá. “Mamá Coco’s not moving.” His entire family shared a few glances each one realizing what it meant. Miguel refused to believe so. “She’s gonna be alright, verdad?” No one answered him.

“Miguel.” He turned to his Tía Gloria. “I don’t think Mamá Coco _can_ be ok.”

“Whatta you mean?” Please don’t say it.

“Sh-she’s dead, Mijo.”

He buried his face into his mamá’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND MAMÁ COCO IS DEAD!! Reunion chapter next! And more Victoria.


End file.
